


Heroes Never Die

by yankeedoodz



Series: Overwatch: The Series [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Pharmercy, ana amari - Freeform, angelaxpharah, implied lenaxamelie, overwatch action, overwatch story, some reaper angst why not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7419403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yankeedoodz/pseuds/yankeedoodz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of Overwatch left a wake of political and socioeconomic troubles as the world coped with its loss. There are many questions left unanswered as to the whereabouts of Strike-Commander Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes, but one thing is certain: the Age of Heroes has ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start

"The protests are getting worse," muttered Angela Ziegler, Head of Medical Research for Overwatch. She, and the other members of the recently crippled Overwatch, gathered by the Hub where Athena displayed numerous news reports where protests and even riots break out all around the world calling for the dissolution of Overwatch.

"You're telling me," groaned Winston, resident scientist of Overwatch. He bandaged up his arm, Winston was tough, certainly, but plasma burns stung like a mother.

They had recently got back from London after breaking up a riot in King's Cross. Protesters are beginning to get out of hand, claiming Overwatch was corrupt even suggesting they may have hand in instigating the Omni Crisis. It was all Overwatch could do to prevent violent riots while simultaneously refuting these allegations, but the United Nations are coming down hard on the group.

Angela turned from the screen, the images of the injured burned into her mind. While these allegations were offensive at best the thought of innocent people getting hurt because of these violent rioters was what bothered her the most. 

She strode to Winston, caduceus in hand, and began to scan his injuries. Her caduceus was a miraculous piece of work, many would acclaim, but for her it was a precise configuration of biomechanical engineering that utilizes nano-machines to fabricate and modify a person's biological makeup.

As Angela began reconstructing and sterilizing Winston's injury , she looked over Overwatch. Membership dwindled due to this schism, this headquarters was nearly filled to the brim with bright-eyed, idealistic heroes eager to protect and serve. Now there were only a handful, Overwatch agents were forced into mandatory retirement, some due to "conflicting loyalties that may arise in the wake of the Omni Crisis" as the UN panel put it.

Good, honest heroes deemed dangerous terrorists and forced to hide away in shame, it burned Angela.

Angela was so lost in her thoughts she barely registered Jack and Gabriel storming in, already in the midst of an argument.

"- don't have time to deal with these politicians, Morrison!" Gabriel growled, slamming his weapon on the table, startling Angela out of her stupor. "We shouldn't have to be sitting in front of these suits, explaining ourselves, we've got our mission and that's that."

Jack Morrison didn't even look at Gabriel and instead went over to Winston, inspecting her injury. "You alright?"

Winston nodded, looking more annoyed than hurt. "Some idiot kid thought it would be funny to fashion a plasma rifle, nearly blew himself up with it."

"Jack," Gabriel said, his patience wearing thin. "Sending any one of our agents to the UN is detrimental to this team, much less sending our strike commander. We need to shift our focus to South America, the Omnics are gathering their forces-"

"Gabe," Jack cut off, turning to face him finally. "Until intelligence reports confirm your… suspicions, we won't mobilize anything. We have to regain the public's trust, it'll look suspicious if we start chasing ghosts."

Gabriel simmered, growling as he glared at Jack and the tension amplified. Angela stood, placing herself between them and faced Gabriel, "Gabe, you must admit that there is nothing indicating an Omnic insurrection, otherwise we would have heard about it."

"Unless, of course, you know something we don't." Jack said.

It felt like the temperature dropped a few dozen degrees. Everyone shuffled nervously, either unwilling or unable to say anything. Among the allegations against Overwatch were suggestions of internal corruption, spies looking to take down Overwatch. No one ever believed these allegations but the thought lingered in the back of their minds.

"Settle down," Winston said, his voice sounding like a clap of thunder though he rarely spoke up. "Tensions are high and we won't get anywhere fighting like this. We are a team, a family-"

"A family?" Gabriel sneered, facing Winston unafraid despite his stature. "We're nothing of the sort, monkey, we're just a bunch of freaks pretending to be something we're not."

"Monkey?" Winston growled, stepping forward.

"Stand down!" Jack ordered, stopping near 300 pound gorilla in his tracks. "As you said, Winston, we won't get anywhere fighting like this… I'll deal with it."

Winston looked like he was going to barrel over Gariel any second now… but complied. Winston left the control room, leaving Angela, Gabe and Jack.

Gabe looked uncomfortable, no, anxious, as if he's waiting for the right opportunity to start a fight. Angela abhorred unnecessary violence and tolerated combat, but she knew no matter what she said she wouldn't be able to stop Gabe if he wished to start something.

"Gabe," Angela started. "We are dealing with this situation as best we can, dissent will only break us apart further."

"A good leader would be able to keep his rank in line," Gabriel snapped back. "Isn't that right, Morrison?"

Jack bristled at his words but kept his cool. "And I am, which is why I am keeping this conversation between the three of us."

"Keeping secrets?" Gabe snickered derisively, "That isn't like you at all, Boy Scout."

"No," Jack agreed. "But when it comes to the security and welfare of this team, sometimes compromises must be made."

"What do you mean?"

Jack paused for a moment, as if wondering if he should continued. He reached into his pockets and laid out a file on the table. Written in bold were the words BLACKWATCH. Angela opened it and was floored by the information.

According to these files, the United Nations initiated a program titled Blackwatch to carry out top-secret missions. This covert operation completed a dozen of wet work assignments including espionage, assassination, kidnapping… torture!

"How…" Angela muttered as she read along. "How could this happen? Blackwatch operated out of Overwatch? How could we not know?"

"That's what I'm here to find out," Jack answered, maintaining his unblinking eye contact with Gabe. "You don't seem very surprised by this, Gabe…"

Gabriel shrugged, appearing indifferent. "It doesn't surprise me that the United Nations would establish a black ops division. Peacekeepers, ha!"

"Where did you get this information from?" Angela asked.

"Secretary Adawe," Jack answered. "She's under investigation now but she managed to do a little digging."

"Perhaps it's a set-up," Gabriel suggested. "She's one of those suits, after all."

"Perhaps… Or she knows she's next on Blackwatch's list and is calling for help," Jack said. "But Blackwatch will know what we have learned and try to stop us… won't they, Gabriel?"

This time it was Angela who barrel towards Jack. She stood in front of him, despite having to look up at him, she glared daggers, pointing her finger at his chest. "Jack! You cannot make these allegations without any form of proof, Gabe may be… rough around the edges, but that hardly makes him a traitor."

For a moment, Jack's eyes softened and Angela could see that he hated this just as much as she did. She understood that he wouldn't make an accusation like this without being 120% sure, not to his best friend.

"How long have you known?"

Angela's blood ran cold. Her chest got tight and it got harder to breathe. She turned and saw Gabriel with a sinister grin on his face. It didn't look like him, Gabriel, her Gabriel. It looked like someone put a mask on, one that looks vaguely like him but that smile was… evil.

"Twelve hours, give or take," Jack solemnly answered, as if he hated being right. "But I wasn't sure. I couldn't be sure. Gabe-"

"You're going to drive this unit into the ground," Gabriel growled, pulling out his shotgun and pointing it at them. "These people, these agents. Powerful soldiers, we could run this world but instead we sit back, listening to people with their heads so far up their own asses if they coughed they would tickle their colons."

"Put the gun down-"

"But no! We have to follow a blind hick, fighting for people who hardly deserve it. So you know what, I think I'm going to enjoy this, Strike-Commander. Die!"

As usual, Jack was faster than Angela. He stepped between her and the shotgun, kicked the table at Gabriel and took the shotgun blast point-blank perfectly shielding her. The impact slammed Jack into Angela and she went spilling to the floor.

Her ears rang, her vision went blurring. Damn, she didn't shield her head from the fall. Her thoughts came in sluggishly and discordant. Possible concussion. Jack? Shotgun blast. Is he okay? Gabriel. Gabriel. Traitor.

"On your feet!" Jack ordered, hoisting Angela up. The ringing subsided. The pain ebbed. But her confusion back apparent when Jack frantically pulled Angela to a crouching position behind a console. "Contact left side!"

Explosions shook the base. Angela grappled for her caducus and began scanning Jack. Minor injuries, it looks as though his armor absorbed most of the blast as he is only left with moderate bruising but there looked to be some internal bleeding.

She began healing him and instantly his breathing began less labored. "How many?" she asked.

"Unknown," Jack grumbled. "Gabriel escaped, that slimy, dirtbag-"

"You knew?" Angela demanded, she got close to Jack's face, nose-to nose, glaring at him her eyes red. "Why didn't you say anything earlier? Why did you dismiss the others?"

She said more but it turned into a creative string of Swiss-German expletives, only half of which Jack understood.

"Contact right!" Jack barked. "Ange, I know you have questions but right now we have contacts! Move!"

Jack pushed Angela behind her and stood, firing his rifle towards a group of soldiers. Angela snapped into action. Her staff charged, while she didn't enjoy using her staff offensively, sometimes compromises must be made. A blast of energy shot from her staff, colliding into a group of soldiers and exploding, scattering the men about.

"Who are they?" Angela said, charging another shot.

"Blackwatch!" Jack answered, firing a few more shots taking down a few dozen soldiers. "We need to get out of here!"

"Brace yourself!" Angela's wings activated and she took off, carrying Jack. She grunted with exertion, he was much heavier than he looked. Jack continued to fire as she flew toward the ceiling, she needed to get out of here… But the others…

"We need to find the others!" Angela shouted.

Jack touched his communicator then went back to shooting. "Winston, Torb, Genji, anyone report!"

A few moments later Jack grimaced. "Communications array is down!"

Pain exploded in her shoulder and with a yelp, she began falling out of the sky. The pain was so intense she wasn't able to control her descent. The world became chaotic as she fell down, miraculously none of the Blackwatch agents were able to hit her.

Jack rolled to his feet and caught Angela before she would crash into the ground. He ran, top speed, towards cover.

"Ange, get out of here," Jack told her, keeping an eye out for the enemy. "Find the others and leave."

"No," Angela told him firmly, gritting her teeth as the pain in her shoulder magnified from mild discomfort to burning pain. "You can't do this by yourself, Jack."

"They need you more," Jack replied. "I'll get out of this, I intend to bury Blackwatch."

"Jack-"

"This isn't about me or you. This is about Overwatch. A group of individuals who saved the world. Overwatch is… gone, there's no hope for it. Unless people like you are out there, fighting the good fight."

Angela frowned, looking at the ground her eyes welled up, but she wouldn't allow herself the respite of a breakdown. Instead she turned her caduceus to herself, patched herself up and stood. "Understood, sir."

Jack nodded, resolute and stood, prepared to charge. "Jack." Angela said, stopping him in his tracks. "Come back to us after this."

The soldier paused. Hesitant in his response. But nodded, reloaded his weapon and for the first time since his start in Overwatch told a lie, "Of course, ma'am."

Jack ran out, providing covering fire as Angela ran the opposite direction. He fired, full blast for ten good seconds and his gun clicked empty. Checking his magazine he realized he was completely out. Jack bashed his rifle against a Blackwatch agent's head, denting his helmet and the man crumpled to the ground.

No ammo. No other weapon. Jack needed to keep this close and personal. Utilizing his superhuman speed, Jack closed the distance between him and three other agents. With a single blow he quickly disarmed them, they retaliated but Jack was easily able to stop them, break their wrists and knock them out cold.

The last soldier brandished a knife and lunged. Grabbing the knife-hand, Jack turned the weapon back to the soldier, stabbing through his body armor. He screamed under the pain, one more thrust and he fell silent.

These men weren't green, hardly. They were trained, precise and professional. It didn't take Jack long to realize that some of these men were former Overwatch agents. The thought of killing his former teammates made a lump of molten lava form in his throat.

"You did a good job dispatching them," chuckled Gabriel. Jack turned around and faced the traitor. He stood, flanked by a few dozen Blackwatch agents. Armed with his signature weapons, Gabriel lazily pointed the shotguns at Jack. "Efficient."

"Tactical necessity," Jack argued, but it didn't feel like a good enough reason to kill these men. He sounded like a commander who rationalized the "necessity" of civilian bombings and collateral damage.

No it was different. These men were traitors. Mercenaries.

"No need to bullshit me, Jack," Gabriel sneered. "It's just us two! You don't have to pretend to be the boy scout everyone thinks you are."

Jack didn't answer, instead he tried to calculate how long ago Angela left to gather the others. Five minutes, perhaps? Was that enough time?

"Why, Gabe?" Jack asked. "Why are you doing this? You fought with us, taken bullets for us, you can't tell me a man who would fight and die for us would do something like this so easily. What was it, huh? A bigger paycheck? A promotion?"

As quick as thought, Gabriel lashed out, his fist colliding in Jack's face and sending him flying against the back wall. Jack's mind swam as pain set in, Gabriel had always been fast but that was unheard of.

"Get off your high horse, pendejo!" Gabriel snarled. "You still think you're the righteous soldier, the hero. You're nothing but a hired gun, sent by men in suits to do their dirty work."

"What does that make you then?" Jack asked, standing, ignoring the burning pain in his mouth from that punch. "Not a soldier, soldiers wouldn't abandon their men. Good men. No, you're a snake-"

"Shut up."

"A slimey, creature hiding. Not good enough to fight without your lackeys, you're a snake in the grass, pouncing on someone's unsuspecting back-"

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

Gabriel raised his gun and fired. Jack took his chance. He ducked, barely avoiding the shotgun's wide cone of fire and charged Gabriel. A powerful palm strike against his chin caused Gabriel to stagger, stunned, he didn't have a chance to stop Jack as he disarmed him and kicked him clean across the room.

The Blackwatch agents were quick to react, raising their weapons they turned and fired at Jack. Ducking, Jack rolled to one side and assumed a firing stance and blasted the agents away. He turned, weapon raised, to Gabriel and caught a gutful of lead for his trouble.

The shotgun blasted Jack away and he crumbled against the wall. Jack felt his stomach, sticky and wet, the sight of his blood made him nauseous.

"In the end, it'll always end like this," Gabriel said, pointing his gun directly in Jack's face.

Jack struggled to remain conscious. A Blackwatch agent ran into the room, saluted Gabriel and nervously reported, "Sir, the base is completely empty!"

"What?!" Gabriel snapped though he remained fixed on Jack, even injured there was still a lot the Strike-Commander could do if left unchecked. "Did you check the underground passages like I told you?"

"Yes!" the soldier reported. "It's been cleared out!"

"How?!" Realization creased Gabriel's face. "McCree?"

Jack chuckled bitterly, his voice hoarse. "He told me everything, apparently he didn't take to your secret organization as you'd hope Gabe."

Gabriel smacked the side of Jack's face with his shotgun. "No matter. After I'm through here, I'll hunt down each and every one of your precious Overwatch agents. I'll be sure to send them your regards."

"You won't win," Jack said, his body shaking from pain, his mind unfocused. "It's simply not in your nature. You don't have the drive, not like them. They'll stop you, Gabriel. They always will."

"Spare me your theatrics. You've lost, accept it."

"Fine, fine." Jack grinned. "But here's another reason you won't win. This."

Jack Morrison pulled out a tiny, palm-sized detonator from his pocket. Before anyone could react, he thumbed the button and the Overwatch base shook.


	2. The Aftermath

Tracer was nervous. It was partly due to the fact that the Overwatch base in Zürich was destroyed a week ago in a fight between Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes, partly due to the response by the United Nations effectively shutting down all operations headed by Overwatch and consequently every Overwatch agent was forced in retirement/gone into hiding. But mostly, Tracer was nervous because of this statue of Dike was staring right her.

It was a strange choice, having a statue of a Greek goddess in the United Nations headquarters in Switzerland, but it was effective. Dike stood in front of Tracer, her marble visage fixed in a grim expression, almost a snarl, as she looked down at Tracer as if trying to blow up the Londoner with her laser eyes. Tracer hoped this statue didn't have laser eyes.

Eight days ago, the Overwatch headquarters in Zürich was completely obliterated in an apparent bout against Jack and Gabriel. Tracer was nowhere near the base as she was in London trying to talk Parliament out of an internal investigation. Welp, now that the base is gone, Tracer supposed an investigation wouldn't be out of the question.

She was called to the United Nations soon after for an interview. The United Nations had apparently collaborated with MI6, the CIA and numerous other intelligence agencies to track down former and current Overwatch members. If Tracer had her way, it would be impossible to find her but she peacefully came.

Tracer was very quickly regretting that decision. As soon as she landed in Switzerland the news was made public. Overwatch was officially disbanded. The Petras Act was swiftly put into place, and when Tracer said swiftly she meant it, almost as if the UN had foreseen this event because putting an act like that so quickly was impossible!

Maybe…

"Ms. Oxton?" the secretary, Lara I think her name was, indicated with a bright smile. "They are ready for you."

Tracer put on a brave smile and stood. "I told you, call me Tracer! Or Lena. Thanks love!" Tracer winked at the lovely Lara, who blushed and giggled, and strode confidently into the council.

Her confidence was almost immediately shattered.

Only fifty of the nearly 200 United Nations panel showed up to this interview but that was still fifty pairs of eyes focused directly on Tracer as she stepped in and stood center-stage whilst the panel looked down on her.

"Ms. Lena Oxton, call sign: Tracer…"

"Yessir!" Automatically, the Royal Air Force pilot stood at attention but that hardly impressed the panel.

"That was not a role call," a woman representing the Ukraine snapped, rolling her eyes.

"Oh… Sorry love!"

The United Kingdom rep, a bloke from Manchester, continued. "Former member of the Royal Air Force, head of the Slipstream Squadron, ranked Commodore and finally left to join the ranks of Overwatch. Age twenty-six…" He glanced over his paper at Tracer as to verify her age. "Fairly major accomplishments for someone so young."

"What can I say, I've got a knack for being awesome!"

"Or would you say your father's former position as Marshal of the Royal Air Force influenced your rise to glory?"

Tracer was right gobsmacked by that accusation. She stepped back as if physically struck. "I'm sorry?"

"That information is hardly pertinent," the United States rep, a woman with a really thick Louisiana accent chimed in. "What we need to know of one Strike-Commander Jack Morrison."

The wall behind the panel illuminated and projected the handsome appearance of Jack Morrison. Tracer's heart felt like it was being squeezed and she steeled herself against the questions. For days she heard the news and people alike tear down Jack, claiming he was a terrorist or mentally unbalanced. It tore her apart, she tried to step in and intervene but they would just turn their anger on her.

"Did you know if Commander Morrison held any pro-Omnic beliefs?" the UK bloke asked.

"Pro-Omnic… You mean if he was against humans? You lot realized he fought against the Omnic-Crisis but for a better outcomes on both sides?"

The panel bristled, annoyed that this girl refused to answer their questions. "Are you aware of any connections to extremist parties Commander Morrison may have had?"

"He- We are friends with blooming monks!" Tracer snapped. "We spent half our time putting down extremists!"

Why weren't they asking about Gabriel? He was the orchestrator behind the downfall of Overwatch if what Mercy said was true. Why are they so determined on Jack?

"Answer our questions, Ms. Oxton."

"No!" Tracer said, pausing for a moment. She counted to three and took a breath. "No, he didn't have any affiliation to extremist groups."

"What about the battle that ensued in Zürich?" the Ugandan rep asked. "Our reports indicate a battle occurred between Commander Morrison and fellow Overwatch agents. Are you aware of Commander Morrison's attempt to overtake Overwatch?"

"Wha- are you lot mad?!" Tracer shouted, her chronal accelerator buzzing madly. "It wasn't Jack, it was Gabriel!"

"Our investigators indicated-"

"They're wrong then!" Tracer interrupted. "It wasn't Jack!"

The panel remained quiet for a few moments. "Then you intend on aligning with Commander Morrison?"

Tracer's blood ran cold. Was this their plan? To somehow implicate Jack and get Tracer guilty by proxy?

"Your chronal accelerator," said the Ukraine rep. "What are its offensive capacities? The designs concerning the weapon were lost in the battle."

Weapon?

"This isn't-"

"That is quite enough, ladies and gentlemen."

Tracer's heart leapt as she turned and saw her guardian angel descend. Well not descend per se but she strode down from the entrance to where Tracer was. It was weird not seeing her in Valkyrie Emergency-Response Suit, but she looked beautiful in her business suit, heels and thick-rimmed glasses.

"Angie!" Tracer yelped, running up to hug her. But uncharacteristically, Angela dismissed her hug and kept her focus on the panel.

"Dr. Ziegler, you are not cleared to sit in on this hearing!" The US rep snapped.

"I am when it concerns Ms. Oxton," Angela answered, her voice smooth as silk. "And when your 'hearing' is conducted in a dark corner, concerning matters that Ms. Oxton would have no knowledge of."

"Wha-"

"This battle you are talking about," Angela continued, undeterred by Tracer's flabbergasted expression. "Ms. Oxton was not apart of, in fact, she was in London as numerous eyewitnesses can attest to. So to ask her about it would be inherently erogenous."

"The legitimacy of our inquiry is for the panel to decide, not some medic," sneered the Bolivian rep.

"Secondly, your 'inquiry' concerning Ms. Oxton's chronal inhibitor is misleading. It is not a weapon, of course."

"Chronal inhibitor?" The US rep sat up, looking through her papers. "Our scientists designated the weapon as a chronal accelerator."

"Semantics," Angela countered. "It's important. Ms. Oxton suffers from a condition called chronal disassociation. In layman's terms, she is no longer tethered to a coherent and linear timeline."

The panel looked around, confused. "The chronal inhibitor essentially forces her to remain in this timeline. Otherwise, she would literally disappear before our eyes. Therefore, it is not a weapon."

"How would you classify it then?"

Angela shrugged. "A very expensive, very shiny prosthesis?"

"This is hardly a laughing matter, Dr. Ziegler. By that matter, doctor, you are not a lawyer, you cannot represent Ms. Oxton."

"Oh, no, no," Angela said, laughing. "You are right. I am not a lawyer, I am something better. A doctor. Or, more aptly, her doctor."

Angela stepped to the side, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Tracer.

The panel scuffed, chuckling to themselves. "That hardly makes you an expert on the chronal accelerator."

"No?" Angela crossed her arms, smiling. "Tell me, what will happen if the chronal inhibitor reacts a negative temporal output and a positive spatial input?"

No response.

"Do you know the effects of slipstream travel on Tracer's body?"

Silence.

"No? Tell me then, do you even know what would happen if the chronal inhibitor reaches an overload state? Like, say, if you remove it from Tracer's body?"

…

"I'll tell you. All of the energy, the chronon particles, the radiation will condense into a single point. It will do so until it reaches capacity and collapse in on itself, time and space and gravity condensed into one point, in and in and in on itself. Do you know what that is called? A black hole."

The board was left in stunned silence. With that, Angela smiled, took Tracer by the arm, and bowed slightly. "I see this meeting is now finished, I will take my leave. Oh, and if any of you have a problem with that, please feel free to debate amongst yourself. It appears to be the only thing you are good at."

Once they left the room, Tracer burst out into a massive grin, jumping and dancing in place. "Whoa! That was top, Angie! I didn't know you were such a badass! Much less a bloody expert on theoretical physics!"

Angela however leaned up against the wall, clutching her rapidly beating heart, trying to calm herself. Tracer was by her side, holding her up practically as the good doctor leaned against her. "I am glad you appreciated that act."

"Act?"

Angela nodded. "The information on your accelerator I gathered from Winston, but the rest was a simple act. Something to get the UN off your back for a little while."

Then suddenly, Angela stood and hugged Tracer, embracing the much smaller girl in a bear hug. Tracer relished the warmth of her hug, it was a nice change from the cold, distant demeanor Angela had been using whilst in the meeting.

"Apologies if I seemed… unfriendly," Angela muttered into Tracer's ear, tickling her. "If the panel saw us as anything more than doctor-patient, they would suggest my bias clouds my judgment."

"That's fine, love."

Angela broke the hug, Tracer immediately felt cold but she knew people were still watching. "I, myself, am under investigation by the United Nations. A multitude of panels and ethic committees looking for someone to blame. It is all I can do to keep them off our scent."

"But why, what happened?" Tracer asked. "You only told me a fight broke out, but what happened to Gabriel? And Jack, is he?..."

"It is a long story," Angela sighed…

////

A state of emergency had been called in Switzerland as the government attempted to evacuate the neighboring cities. There had been rumors circulating about the explosion being a terrorist attack, perhaps disgruntled omnics or worst agencies like Talon attacking.

I had been first response, of course. Jack sent me to evacuate the rest of Overwatch, he must've predicted the fight between him and Blackwatch and knew that if Overwatch got involved there would've been a lot more casualties.

We had been about five miles from the base and we still felt the explosion. I ordered the rest of Overwatch to flee the country whilst I return, I am a citizen of Switzerland so I wouldn't be in too much trouble when the police arrived.

The base had been reduced to rubble. Whatever happened it wasn't a standard bomb, from what I observed there were explosives strapped to the base's power supply for maximum damage. There were only Blackwatch agents in the base, but still, to see their mangled bodies, half-incinerated wasn't a pleasant sight.

It was in the center base where I found him.

Half-dead, laid out on the ground neatly was Gabriel Reyes. My heart boiled at the sight of the traitor, but as I got closer, my skin crawled. He was underneath a massive pillar, somehow despite his condition he was able to crawl out from under it, but…

"Gabriel!" I turned my caduceus to him, immediately attempting to stop his blood loss but it was too much.

Gabriel opened his eyes and looked at me. Delirious, he wasn't able to focus on me and muttered something in Spanish. I believe he called me an angel.

"You will not die today, Reyes," I said, pulling out my kit and injecting a vial into his remaining arm. "You will pay for your crimes, for that, you must survive this. While I hate you and everything you stand for, I sympathize with you. Because you will feel this."

Gabriel's eyes widened, and though his ability to talk was impaired, he was able to let out a blood curdling scream.

Gabriel Reyes suffered third-degree burns in 98% of his body. His right arm was completely destroyed, he suffered multi-organ failure, and the pillar that crushed him bisected him from the waist down. When he somehow crawled out of it, a slew of toxins rushed into his system that fortunately wasn't able to do much damage until I stopped his bleeding.

He was still alive.

It was only because of his superhuman physique he was able to stay alive. It took half an hour but I managed to repair the damage done to his lungs and heart. But he wouldn't survive the next five minutes if he didn't get into surgery.

It was my last resort.

The scientists called it Resurrection but it was hardly as simple as that. In theory, the technology would boost the body's natural ability to heal and hyper-augment every cell they have, even generating new cells. It was designed primarily to deal with cancerous tumors that produce despite genetic therapy and autoimmune diseases, but nothing to this magnitude.

The Super Soldier program Gabriel was part of augmented every part of his body. He was faster, stronger, and smarter than the the most physically adept human and he would continue to get faster, stronger and smarter over time. He even healed at an incredible rate. So, in theory, the Resurrection would merely enhance his already augmented cells. But would it work?

It was only in its prototype stage. I didn't have time to think about it. Emergency response would be here in ten-fifteen minutes, Gabriel won't last that long.

I channeled my suit's power into my hands which glowed with a golden light and hummed with energy. My caduceus' scanner indicated that his vitals were already beginning to improve being in proximity to my suit.

Here goes nothing.

I sent all of my energy towards Gabriel, engulfing him in a golden light.

////

"Then what happened?" Tracer asked, practically teetering at the edge of her seat.

Tracer and Angela had moved from the United Nations to a quaint little coffee shop down the street as she recounted her story. Angela refused to allow Tracer to drink coffee, however, the girl was hyper enough as is.

"His vitals stabilized enough to keep him alive as he was moved to the hospital," Angela answered. "They took him to an underground hospital where I continued treatment on him. He survived the night, however…"

"What?"

Angela looked away, as if embarrassed, no, she looked scared. "He's gone."

"What do you mean?"

"A day after he was admitted to the hospital, I came back to check on him, to ensure the local authorities would take him once he was stabilized. But the entire wing he was in was shut down, apparently he had escaped."

"How?!" Tracer slammed her fist against the table, ignoring the strange looks from everyone at the cafe. "You said he was missing three of his limbs, two of each he kinda needs to walk with."

Angela shrugged. "I don't know." She hated saying that. "As soon as he disappeared, Overwatch was swiftly disbanded, the Petras Act was put into place and everything fell into chaos."

Too many things didn't add up. How did Gabriel escape? Was he assisted by Talon or Blackwatch? Did it have anything to do with the Petras Act? Angela figured the United Nations had a hand in this, obviously, it's why Gabriel never came up in the interviews or the official report. They can't very well admit it was Gabriel without revealing Blackwatch.

"What about Jack?"

////

Due to the now sensitive nature of Overwatch, I was placed under surveillance. I could no longer operate in Overwatch anymore, obviously, but I had my old job in _Klinik Hirslanden_ as Surgical Chief. It was by some miracle the hospital hired me back, but I suspect it was the Swiss government that pushed me to keep me in that place. What better way to keep an eye on me, after all.

I had left work around ten and headed home. As soon as I walked in, the indistinguishable scent of blood assailed me. Instinctively, I reached for my caduceus but grabbed nothing. I cursed as I remembered the Swiss government took my Valkyrie suit and caduceus away from me.

"At ease, doc," spoke the indistinguishable voice of Jack Morrison, except he sounded… different. His voice was gravely, as if he had spent the last few days smoking forty packs of cigarettes a day, but I didn't register that at the time. I was merely elated he had somehow survived the blast.

"Jack!" I gasped, heading towards the direction of his voice to find… someone else.

Recoiling, I composed myself as I thoroughly examined this man. It wasn't Jack, he didn't look like him but… he did at the same time. He wore Jack's uniform, though it was torn to shreds and splattered with dry and fresh blood. He even had his strong muscular build, except this man was hunched over, barely able to stand.

He looked like Jack Morrison ten years into the future. For half a second, I honestly thought this was some time-traveling Jack Morrison but reminded myself that such things were impossible. Save you, Tracer.

Jack's youthful face was etched in lines and scarred. A scar ran from his brow to his mouth and another curved around his chin, they were raw and still bleeding. His golden blond hair was ashy-gray, as if the color had been drained from it. Even his sky-blue eyes looked stormy-gray.

Jack looked as if he had aged ten years.

Granted, Jack was hardly a young man anymore, but his superhuman condition kept him young and rejuvenated. What had happened?

"Don't look at me like that, Angela," Jack said, a hint of a smirk developing on his face. "Making me feel old."

"What happened?" I stepped forward but was hesitant to touch him, as if I were afraid of making it worse somehow.

Jack shrugged but the gesture proved too much for him, he tipped over, threatening to fall. I caught him and bore his weight, it took all of my strength to lug him over to my chair. He collapsed into the seat, grateful for its comfort.

I didn't have my equipment but that hadn't stopped me before. I worked on his injuries and despite being mangled, Jack barely winced at my treatment.

"Woke up and I was like this," Jack explained. He looked at his hands as if he couldn't believe they were his. "I didn't heal from my injuries."

Jack placed a hand on his abdomen, winced, and when he showed it to me it was bloody. "Could barely make it out of the wreckage."

Too many questions swam in my head.

"How did you survive?" I asked.

Jack chuckled. "Dumb luck. The initial blast knocked me clear through the computer room straight into the bathrooms. Those toilets could withstand a nuclear missile."

"I don't understand how you ended up this way," I muttered, taking a look at his injuries. Jack was only half-correct. He healed faster than the average human but still much too slow for what he's used to. Otherwise, he would've died from the multitude of injuries he suffered.

"I was hoping you would, doc," Jack grunted as I applied antibiotics. "You worked on the super soldier program didn't you?"

"Project Perseus," I confirmed. Though I never met Jack or Gabriel in the program, I did have a hand in its foundation. "I can only theorize possible explanations."

Jack leaned back and gave the "go-on" gesture with his hand.

"The serum used to augment you is failing. However super your body may be, it is beginning to regress back to normal standards. It's like a rubber band being stretched to its limit, it may retain its form but there are bound to be loose parts."

"Any idea why?" Jack asked.

I shrugged. "The stress of continuous military operation? Perhaps the serum had a short shelf life. Or, the explosion."

"You saying the blew up the super part of me?"

"Not exactly. I postulated in the early stages of the program the near infinite number of variables the experiments may encounter. No one human is built the same, after all. The serum isn't a one-size fits all type of deal.

"There are a number of factors that can influence the outcome. Age, sex, body mass, neurological make-up, even personality."

"Are you suggesting bad people will reject this serum? Seems a bit far-fetched." Jack chuckled.

"Says the super soldier," I countered. "No, I'm saying… there is no universal standard for morality, right? It is a learned concept, shaped by society, economic status, even the weather can have an effect on personality. What if it is more intricate than we thought? The serum upgraded every aspect of a person's body. What if when applied to a short-tempered person, they become more unhinged. And if the serum is applied to a good person…"

"What, they become more good?"

"Or, the serum becomes activated when met with the same factors it was first introduced to. If a good man, with a good heart is introduced to the serum, perhaps that is required to allow it to work. So long as the man remains good, they will retain the rewards the serum provides."

Jack stayed quiet for a count of twenty.

"Something inside you broke," I guessed. "The psychological stress was too much for your body. Perhaps-"

"Maybe," Jack said, standing up. I stood as well, ready to catch him but he seemed steady on his feet. "But that doesn't matter, what matters now is the mission. Where's Gabriel?"

I wanted to argue that it did matter, but arguing would be pointless. "There is a facility under Geneva, secret, of course. They have detained Gabriel there but he escaped two days ago."

Jack growled. "Damn. I need to track him down then."

"You are hardly in any condition to do that," I argued. "Plus, for all we know he was whisked away by the United Nations, Blackwatch, whoever! There was no way he could move on his own."

"I've failed, Ange." Jack muttered, his expression solemn. "Overwatch was supposed to be different than these agencies, these organization. Ran by people with agendas. Not run by soldiers, but by people, good, honest people."

"It is still that," I insisted, stepping forward and placing a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Humanity is an ocean, a few drops of it may be dirty but that doesn't make the entire ocean dirty."

Jack looked anguished, as if he wanted so badly to believe me, to take my words into consideration but he couldn't.

"Overwatch is done," he said. "But that doesn't mean we are."

"What's the plan then?"

"Stay hidden. Stay underground."

"What? But-"

"The UN and the people of the world will want to see Overwatch crucified, especially their members. For now, you guys will have to play ball. Stay underground, hidden from the public eye. Until you are needed."

"What will you do? Take on Blackwatch yourself? Jack, you idiot, you can't do this by yourself!"

"Jack Morrison is dead." He paused, taking in the gravity of what he just said. "I can operate freely now, not as Jack Morrison, as someone else. As something else. And I've told you Ange, I'm not doing this by myself. I'll come back for you, I'll come back for all of you."

There wasn't anything I could say or do to stop Jack. He felt guilty, felt as if this whole thing was his fault. I could only help any way I could. "Take this." I handed him a golden vial, he stared at it quizzically.

"Biotic Restoration Emitter," I told him. "It's a more diluted form of your super serum. Theoretically, it should temporarily restore your cells, and stave your… symptoms. It should be applied once a month, but in an emergency can be considered first-aid, if you're creative."

"Thanks, Ange," Jack said, smiling sadly. "For everything."

"You should visit the team. I've no clue where Ana has run off, but the others are curious to your whereabouts."

Jack thought for a moment. "Lena, first. I recruited her after all."

"Sounds good."

We stood there for a few awkward moments before I gave in and hugged him tightly. "We lost you once before, never again, Jack. Come back to us, okay?"

Jack hugged me back. "Yes, ma'am."

////

"Last I heard, he was heading to London, but then you were called here," Angela finished.

Tracer looked sad but content that her Strike-Commander was at the very least alive. "So, we just hide then? Like we've done something wrong?"

Angela shrugged, irritated by current circumstances. "The world will see us as criminals," she surmised. "We cannot give them what they want, we can only provide we they need."

"And what's that?"

"Heroes, of course."


	3. The Reaper

_I need to promote this profile a bit more. Views are less than stellar xD please enjoy! Any suggestions, comments, concerns are welcome!_

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The first shotgun blast nearly took Tracer’s head off. The second one hurt like crazy. Hi there! Welcome to the Tracer chapter of this story, well I say _Tracer_ chapter, but she’ll only be in it for, like, a little bit. Ten minutes maybe? Well, for Tracer, that’s probably like five hours for her.

 

Tracer slumped against the wall, her shoulder stinging. She felt it, winced as pain ran like fire up and down her back. Her hand was bloodied.

 

“Bloody hell,” she grumbled. Tracer thought she had dodged it, but she was sloppy. Like always.

 

 _Don’t remember Ro_ , Tracer chided herself. There wasn’t time to sit around, pondering about the past. Despite her abilities, Tracer found that there was never any time for that.

 

He appeared in front of her, clad in black robes as if the shadows were a fashion statement and aimed his shotgun right at Tracer. “Death comes…”

 

He fired.

 

Time slowed down.

 

Literally, that’s kinda Tracer’s thing.

 

People seem to think that the chronal accelerator _activates_ Tracer’s time-distortion abilities. When really, it is as Angela said the last chapter. It _inhibits_ her abilities.

 

When activated, Tracer is free to warp time and space all she likes (within reason, actually). That’s when the fun starts. Tracer was able to see the wide cone of fire the shotgun blasted, they froze in mid-air. She stood up calmly, stepped to the side to avoid the blast, and whacked the dude right in his face.

 

Time sped up again, the pellets sprayed against the wall she was at, and the emo-assassin was blasted back from Tracer’s punch as if he were hit by a truck. Tracer supposed with the speed she was going at, a punch _would_ feel like getting hit by a car.

 

“Death comes!” Tracer mocked, immediately his impossibly deep voice. “Get a life, mate. Who are you anyways?”

 

Emo Dude stood up calmly and strode toward her. Tracer was certain she felt his jaw breaking from her punch but he seemed unscathed. “Your worst nightmare…”

 

Tracer groaned loudly. “Seriously? You need better one-liners, mate.”

 

There was something off about this guy. He was pretty fast, there aren’t many people that can sneak up to Tracer, he’s certainly strong, being able to take Tracer’s time-distorting enhanced right hook, but she didn’t know a single thing about him. Someone like this would certainly pop on on Overwatch’s radar, perhaps he is a new player?

 

Tracer needed a way to combat him. Her guns were left at home and she didn’t want to risk blinking away to retrieve them. Perhaps his weapons?

 

The would-be assassin brandished two new shotguns from his coat and fired them at once. Time slowed again. Tracer could see the pellets, frozen in the air, and with ease she stepped around it and charged him. She reeled back for a punch but imperceptibly, he _turned_ toward her.

 

That was impossible! No human on earth could have the reaction time necessary to follow her movements. Slowly, he began to turn his shotguns at her but Tracer put a stop to that. She grabbed his arm, twisting it with ease, leapt, and turned mid-air, and kicked him square in the chest.

 

Again, he was blown back from the impact as time sped up again. In the scuffle, Tracer managed to disarm him, holding his shotgun in her arms, but she was still unnerved by his reaction time. It wasn’t that he was getting faster… he was _learning_ at ridiculous speeds.

 

When you move as fast as Tracer, you don’t necessarily have to mix up your movements. Tracer hasn’t met anyone fast enough to keep up with her, so there wasn’t any need for fancy maneuvers. But this guy… maybe he wasn’t _physically_ able to keep up with her, but he could see her movements.

 

Who the bloody hell was he?

 

Shadows rippled from the walls and like tendrils shot toward her. Startled, Tracer stepped back and watched the shadows condense and coalesce into a fist flying straight at her. For the first time in a long time, Tracer barely dodged the punch. The attack didn’t stop, swings came from these semi-transparent, floating arms. Tracer dodged and weaved as the darkness continued to combine to form the dude’s whole body.

 

He definitely wasn’t moving any faster, but Tracer was constantly on the defensive, moving back and dodging each strike as he gets closer and closer to hitting her. He was able to _predict_ where and how Tracer was going to dodge next!

 

The thought chilled her to her bones, to the extent where she didn’t even see his next kick. It caught her straight in the abdomen, she was only able to redirect the strike but it still sent her flying.

 

Tracer crumbled against the wall, wheezing as she felt her ribs. Good, nothing broken, luckily. The assassin’s body dematerialized and rematerialized right in front of Tracer, aiming his shotgun at her face.

 

Her chronal accelerator buzzed inertly. She wouldn’t be blinking away anytime soon, Tracer overloaded the accelerator. She cursed inwardly, she was always like that. Blissfully unaware of the world around her, as she blinks through life.

 

“Who are you?” Tracer asked, uncharacteristically out of breath.

 

He chuckled darkly. “Reaper…”

 

He pulled the trigger.

 

**36 hours earlier**

 

Hikaru Shiota glanced over the biometric of one Gabriel Reyes as he lay, inert, before him. He shook his head at how grim the readings were, this man technically speaking wasn’t even alive, yet Widowmaker insisted on bringing him in.

 

“There’s no point,” he muttered to the French assassin, but she wasn’t paying him any attention. “Higher brain functions aren’t even working. No amount of flash-cloning and prosthesis can bring this man back, there’s no point.”

 

Widowmaker responded in French. Hikaru sighed, shot back a response in Japanese, then translated. “English, please?”

 

“He is a valuable asset,” Widow said. “Talon has use for him.”

 

“I understand that. But he… _can’t_ do anything!”

 

Widow reached a hand in her pocket and Hikaru flinched instinctively. There was no telling what she would pull out and no telling what she would use it for. Widow was very efficient as an assassin but unpredictable. One moment she would be humming to herself, the next pulling a knife out on a teammate.

 

In her thin fingers she held a small vial. Hikaru relaxed but only slightly. She began to hook up her vial to Gabriel’s IV. “What’s that?”

 

“A concentrated form of CNT-4520,” Widow responded. “The formula used for the United States Army’s Super-Soldier program. With a few modification, of course, courtesy of Talon.”

 

Hikaru knew the formula, being a head scientist in Talon’s Science Division. It was the same formula they had used to enhance Amélie Lacroix into Widowmaker. It was highly unstable and relied heavily on other genetic predispositions and ancillary factors. There were unfortunate side-effects with nearly every subject, Amélie ended up with a dangerously reduced heart-rate and her now infamous blue skin.

 

“Gabriel was already exposed to this formula,” Hikaru argued. “Providing another dose won’t revive him.”

 

“Perhaps,” Widow agreed, stepping back to monitor his vitals again. “But with these new modifications, things will be different. Combined with his now supercharged cells, thanks to Angela Ziegler, it should produce an… interesting effect.”

 

Hikaru started to understand Widow’s intentions. Super-Soldiers like Gabriel and Widowmaker could heal at an accelerated rate, but it was limited. Their physiology was incredible, peak human even beyond if they pushed their limits, but regenerating entire _limbs_ was beyond their capabilities.

 

Talon had been working on ways to work past that limitation. To regenerate limbs, to disregard illness or poison or disease, to literally transcend death… Well, having soldiers like that would mean you are unstoppable.

 

It never worked, but maybe in conjunction with Angela’s Valkyrie's suit, it was possible…

 

Gabriel’s vitals went crazy. Emergency alarms began blaring as he suddenly began to fail. Whatever that was left working was now dying, quickly. Hikaru sprung to help but Widow stopped him with a single arm and a glare.

 

“He’ll die,” he told her.

 

“Then he will prove himself useless.”

 

Gabriel convulsed. An action that was impossible, he was brain dead there was no way he would be able to _move_. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he gasped. He didn’t have any lungs but he managed a voiceless scream as he began to seize.

 

Hikaru watched in horror as blood splurted from his injuries… but then it began to move on its own. It didn’t spray everywhere, it remained _around_ Gabriel. Floating around him in thick clouds like metallic sand caught in an orbit. The blood and flesh coalesced into darkness, orbiting around Gabriel’s twitching body.

 

The darkness went down, enveloping Gabriel and thickening… to form his limbs! Hikaru watched as he regenerated his arms and legs, he began to heal impossibly fast. His injuries, his burns went away. But it must’ve been painful, after two seconds of regenerating, Gabriel screamed, anguished.

 

**Two hours later**

 

“It worked,” Hikaru reported. “But, I don’t know what happened…”

 

Lieutenant General Henry B. Ackerson stepped over the threshold and into a completely ransacked hospital room. The hospital bed was turned over, torn in two. The windows were broken, the walls splattered with blood. It smelled like a slaughterhouse. Probably due to the dead guards by Ackerson’s feet.

 

The attack was vicious, animalistic even. The two guards ran in to subdue Gabriel but had their throats tore out for their troubles. Ackerson sighed, irritated by this situation.

 

“You were told to monitor him,” Ackeron grumbled at the scientist. Hikaru shrugged, gesturing helplessly at the room.

 

“Whatever Widow administered healed him but he grew out of control!” Hikaru said. “He barely recognized us, nearly took Widow’s head off.”

 

“A futile act,” Widow said, smugly staring at Gabriel’s unconscious and detained body by her feet. “It was under control.”

 

“And the guards?” Ackerson asked.

 

“A little fun for Gabriel.”

 

Ackerson bit back his response. There was no reasoning with Widow sometimes, but the results were promising if a bit unprecedented. “The reaper formula worked then,” Ackerson noted, content with the results. “Get Reyes ready for transport and debriefing. He’ll need to be reprogrammed and sent out for assignment. I want to see how good our Reaper is in action. Perhaps we can sic him on an Overwatch agent.”

 

“Wait, reprogramming?” Hikaru asked. “Gabriel is hardly in a state to be reprogrammed. He was _brain dead_ , there’s no telling what will happen if we attempt to scramble his mind.”

 

Ackerson looked Hikaru up and down, as if seeing him for the first time. The scientist was intelligent, of course, but far too green for Talon’s tastes. “Reprogramming was designed to instill courage, unwavering loyalty in the subject. It was created to deter deserters, dissenters and traitors.”

 

“I know,” Hikaru interrupted. Widowmaker herself went through reprogramming. It was as Ackerson said, Talon’s way of creating perfect loyal soldiers. “But is it necessary with Gabriel? His head is messed up already. Preliminary reports indicated he suffered from PTSD, unchecked aggression from his tours. _Plus_ he was brain-dead just a while ago and brought back to life, what if it makes him worse? What if--”

 

“I knew Reyes from years back,” Ackerson said. “I recruited him after all. Unchecked aggression? Hell no, the boy was fierce but focused like a laser. And PTSD, ha! A junior doc’s diagnosis. He’ll be fine, and even still, it isn’t as if we’re doing anything he wouldn’t want. He _created_ the reprogramming method, after all. Widowmaker, with me.”

 

Without waiting for a response, Lieutenant General Ackerson stepped out of the room, Widowmaker in tow. Talon footsoldiers stepped in, ready to contain Gabriel but they didn’t pay them any mind.

 

Ackerson turned to Widow. “Monitor Reyes,” he told her.

 

Widow bristled, annoyed she was assigned, yet again, the babysitting detail but nodded.

 

“We’ll send him on a test run,” Ackerson continued. “This is his target.”

 

He handed Widow a file. Her usual, neutral, calm demeanor melted into barely restrained anger as she opened the file and saw Lena Oxton, Tracer, smile back at her. It contained her details, obtained by Widow last time they fought, and last known address.

 

“Why her?” Widow asked, glaring at Ackerson.

 

Ackerson didn’t falter under her glare, calmly responding, “She has proven a nuisance. And since you seem _unable_ to eliminate her, Reyes will.”

 

“I _told_ you. She is mine,” Widow snarled. “My target. I will be the one to kill her.”

 

“Why hadn’t you?” Ackerson asked, stopping Widow in her tracks. “You had ample opportunity on King’s Row, yet you let her get away, unscathed.”

 

“Tekhartha Mondatta was my target,” Widow argued as she had the _first_ time they questioned her about this. “Not her.”

 

“The point remains. Not only did you leave a _witness_ who saw your face, but a former member of Overwatch. Perhaps your former sentimentality got in the way, perhaps your feelings for her--”

 

“I was a professional,” Widow snapped. “Taking out my intended target. _Nothing_ more.”

 

Ackerson sighed, uncontent with that response. “Perhaps it is _you_ that requires reprogramming.”

 

Widow instinctively froze up at the idea of needing reprogramming. The process was painful, she hated it. It was like taking her mind out of her body, microwaving it, then putting it back. But it was effective, she was a perfect soldier now.

 

“You will monitor Reyes,” he restated. “You will assist in his assignment _but_ he will be the one to deliver the killing blow. Not you. Interfere more than necessary and there will be consequences.”

 

They stood there, glaring at each other for the count of twenty before Widow nodded briskly. “Yes sir.”

 

**Ten hours later**

 

Memories flashed. Familiar faces appeared in Gabriel’s mind. Wait, who was he. Who are they? _Where_ was he?

 

The man. He had blond hair. It looked like the color of straw in the daylight.

 

“Jack Morrison!” he told him.

 

What did he say back?

 

What was his name?

 

Gabriel… Reyes.

 

Reaper.

 

“Reaper, are you aware of your condition?”

 

Reaper’s head felt like cotton. It was difficult to remember what had happened. Where was he?

 

He looked ahead and saw a pretty blonde woman with a clipboard, jotting down notes as he reassembled his shotgun. Wait, had he cleaned it? He didn’t remember.

 

“Reaper.” Her voice was insistent, impatient, as if they had been having this conversation for a while now.

 

“Yes?” he responded, his own voice sounded foreign, unfamiliar.

 

“Your condition,” she repeated calmly. “Do you remember how it is you became like this?”

 

Reaper looked at his arm. It was paler than the rest of his body. For a moment, his skin dried up, scabbed instantly, looking horribly burned, but just as quickly it regenerated, healed. He wasn’t alive, was he?

 

“No…”

 

“Dr. Angela Ziegler,” she said.

 

Memories of another blonde appeared in his mind. She smiled at him, shook his head, told him, “I am Mercy. I’ll be watching over you now.”

 

Reaper shook his head, a headache burning his forehead. “Who..”

 

“She is a former member of Overwatch,” the psychologist explained. “An organization you were part of. You tried to destroy them but you were stopped. Dr. Angela Ziegler altered your physiology, made you into like this. We saved you.”

 

“You saved me…”

 

“You are our weapon.”

 

“Weapon…”

 

“Our… Reaper.”

 

“Reaper, ready?”

 

Reaper blinked. He wasn’t in the office anymore. He was standing on a rooftop. The air was humid. It smelled like rain. He looked across the city, it looked familiar. London?

 

Looking to his right, he saw a tall woman in a purple and blue suit. Her skin was blue, like she was a corpse. A sniper rifle slung over her shoulders as her mechanical visor covering her face as she looked to the west.

 

“The target is leaving the station,” she informed him. “She is heading east up the street. Intercept and take her out.”

 

The rest of the Strike Team geared up. Ten soldiers from Talon, all of them highly trained and capable. Considering who they were targeting, it may not be enough. Reaper looked at his hands. In one he held his shotgun, in the other a mask.

 

They would recognize him, Reaper was told, this was designed to keep his identity a secret from Tracer. What identity? Reaper didn’t even know who _he_ was.

“Understood,” Reaper said, placing the mask over his face. “Repositioning…”

 

~==~

 

Tracer was walking down the street, enjoying the grimy London air. Granted, despite the London Clean-Up Act of 2024, the air was still a bit grimy and you’d sometimes end up with dirt boogers from the Underground. Still, Tracer loved it. She grew up here, after all, she always felt comfortable in London and in big cities in general. Quiet places drove Tracer up a wall, it was weirdly suffocating when she thought about it.

 

Anyhow, she had just gotten back into London this morning. So far the authorities haven’t hunted her down, so that was good! But there was still worry in the back of her mind. This lingering fear that simply wouldn’t go away.

 

This whole situation was sitting on the precipice of disaster, one wrong move and everything blows up! The public for one was very divided on how to approach Overwatch. Some hailed the group as heroes, some wanted to bloody crucify them!

 

She hadn’t gotten any angry pedestrians, yet. Of course people recognized Tracer, it was a weird thing to acknowledge but she became the face of Overwatch over the years. It didn’t help that she had a blooming chronal accelerator attached to her chest. At the airport even there was a lovely little girl that recognized her and asked for an autograph.

 

Whilst she signed the paper and gave the girl a hug, Tracer did notice a few strange looks from people. They looked… confused, angry even. Like, who does she think she is?

 

In her whole career in Overwatch, Tracer never felt more uncomfortable than at that moment and she fought in _wars_. She never had to watch over her shoulders… until now.

 

She had been surrounded.

 

The soldiers were well-trained, but confident. They didn’t take any cover, they simply approached from her flank, armed to the teeth. Tracer counted twelve of them. She didn’t recognize their uniforms, perhaps they were PMC. No, they were Blackwatch.

 

Tracer tensed. If they were Blackwatch, this would need to be handled differently. They raised their weapons. Standard assault rifles. Adrenaline pumped in Tracer’s body.

 

“Fire!”

 

Time slowed down.

 

Tracer pulled down her goggles. She admitted, their reaction time was keen, they fired almost instantly, careful to keep themselves out of their line of fire. But Tracer was faster.

 

She weaved past the hail of bullets with ease and ran around the group of soldiers, deciding how to handle them. Tracer disarmed the first two guards, yanking their guns out of their hands and pulling it upward. To their credit, she didn’t feel any bones break, but they would certainly feel this next part.

 

Tracer tapped the first guy in the chest, side-stepping to the right and elbowing the next one in the face. His jaw felt like it disintegrated from the blow. Moving to the next three, she took one of their guns, disassembled it in the speed of light and kicked him across the face.

 

She manipulated the other two’s arms, moving them upward and pushing them toward their faces. Their increased momentum from Tracer’s actions would knock them out easy, maybe even break a few bones.

 

Tracer tripped the next one, pushing him backwards against her foot so he would be sent flying at about twenty miles-per-hour. The next one looked beefier, so she needed to get cruel with this one. She disarmed him, snapped his wrist and broke his arm. This time, she fully punched him in the face, sending him flying toward his next two comrades.

 

The final two. Time was beginning to speed up, Tracer needed to work fast. She pantsed the first one and pushed him against the last soldier but for good measure she slapped the sides of his head. The concussive force would knock him out instantly, his helmet would protect him from dying but he won’t get up for a while.

 

Time sped up. A tornado exploded around the soldiers and each one of them were knocked out or rendered useless by Tracer’s efforts. She stood in the middle of the pile of unconscious bodies, proud of her handiwork. “All in a day’s work,” she muttered. Then she moved to discover who these guys really were.

 

What she didn’t notice was the last guy right behind her, pointing a shotgun right at her back.

 

**Present time**

 

The shotgun fired and Tracer closed her eyes, waiting to die. When a thunderous crash exploded in front of her, she opened them to find a 7’4’’ _giant_ standing in between her and Reaper. Tracer gasped with joy when she noticed a familiar hard-light shield in front of her and a massive hammer.

 

Reaper was taken completely by surprise by Reinhardt’s appearance and wasn’t able to dodge the wide hammer swing that knocked him halfway up the street. Reinhardt laughed triumphantly, his voice being carried epically by his helmet.

 

“GET UP! SO THAT I MAY KNOCK YOU DOWN AGAIN AND AGAIN! HAHA!” he roared victoriously, but he did not advance on Reaper, instead turning to face Tracer. Tracer smiled as his helmet parted, revealing the aged expression of Reinhardt, smiling back.

 

“Rein!” Tracer called, leaping up to hug him. The Dragon Slayer hugged her back chuckling as Tracer nuzzled into his neck.

 

“It is good to see you too, fräulein!” Reinhardt said, squeezing her once more and then putting her down. “I see you have made a new friend! Shall you introduce me to him?”

 

Tracer broke the hug, still unable to break her wide grin. “Not sure mate, calls himself Reaper this one.”

 

“Hm!” Reinhardt considered the nickname. “An odd choice for an odd man.”

 

“Says the bloke called Dragon Slayer.”

 

“VERY TRUE! COME OUT AND FACE ME, REAPER!”

 

Reaper stood and Tracer’s heart dropped. Judging by Reinhardt’s expression, his did as well. Reaper mask was knocked off his face, revealing the very scarred, very disfigured expression of Gabriel Reyes.


	4. The Spider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Shitty things have happened in my life recently which have taken me completely by surprise. I'm not feeling too great about, well, anything to be frank. I will keep writing as much as I can (not because I have to, but because I want to) and.. yeah. Enjoy please. Oh, and if you have time, check out my youtube channel. There isn't anything on there but I plan to make Overwatch videos and other gameplay videos. So, yeah. Thank you very much.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCjxVtwHERv22QJxdmlqVkZQ

“Gabriel?!” Tracer yelped, pulling up her goggles, staring at Gabriel/Reaper in disbelief. Reaper frowned for a second, as if he recognized that name, and shook his head.

“Who the hell is Gabriel?” he growled, putting on his mask, cracking his neck as he prepared for his next attack.

“I heard he perished,” Reinhardt whispered, activating his shield and gripping his hammer. “Seems news of his death have been exaggerated.”

Tracer’s mind worked in overtime. Thing about temporal manipulation meant that Tracer could process more information faster than regular people. “Gabriel’s whole dematerializing deal must be how he survived the explosion,” Tracer reasoned. “He’s a lot tougher now. Don’t hold back, Rein.”

It also explained how he was able to predict her movement, they were teammates for years. They fought together, it was perfectly naturally that he would be able to see through her movements. But that also meant she could see through his. His fighting style never changed, although he could now do the whole shadowy business now, his base movements are the same.

“I’ll fly, love,” she told Reinhardt.

“And I shall be bait!” he answered.

“I don’t think so.”

Reaper materialized between the two, faster than Tracer expected. She lunged at him but he pointed his shotgun at her.

Shit!

She was too slow again. The shotgun fired and time slowed down but it wasn’t enough. Tracer turned slowly and the pellets impacted her chest. Time sped up and she slammed through a tiny shop. Pain exploded in her chest, Tracer fought the urge to cry but tears welled up as the pain was unbearable. 

Tracer inspected her chest, expecting to find a hole there but she looked fine. Well, minus the blood. The injury looked worse than it actually was, but seeing her blood like that freaked Tracer out. Her chronal accelerator took the brunt of the damage, plus she luckily guarded herself with her reinforced gauntlets.

Still, it was only luck she wasn’t dead now. No, it was also Reinhardt. Tracer saw it, Reaper’s aim was a little off because Reinhardt was in the middle of an attack. Reinhardt was fast, but she knew Reaper would be faster. 

Reaper dodged the first hammer strike with ease and fired. Reinhardt’s shield materialized and absorbed the blast. Growling, Reaper unloaded more shots into his shield but Reinhardt held strong. His guns clicked empty and Reinhardt took his chance, he swung again, the strike was aimed right at his head… and went through!

Reaper dematerialized as the hammer was about to impact him, charged, rematerialized and punched Reinhardt in the chest. Reinhardt’s armor weighed about a friggin’ ton, but he went flying across the street as if he weighed nothing. What the hell happened to Gabriel?!

Tracer stood, ready to help but the pain was too much. Blood covered her hands, “Damn it,” she grumbled, feeling weak. Could she recall? No, too much time had passed plus there would be no changing this outcome. 

“Hahaha!” Reaper cackled, “Come on old man, I thought you were supposed to be tough!”

Reinhardt groggily sat up as Reaper neared. “I’ll show you old man!” His fist lashed out with surprising speed but again Reaper dematerialized right before he got hit, he side-stepped and grabbed Reinhardt’s arm and twisted. Hard.

His armor cracked and Reinhardt roared in pain as his wrist broke. “Too weak,” Reaper said, disappointed. “You’ll die first.”

“Try it then!”

Reaper, still holding onto Reinhardt’s arm, pointed his gun at him. Reinhardt sprung. He jumped up as Reaper shot so the blast glanced off his shield and with his free hand grabbed Reaper by the head and slammed him into the ground. Bones crunched under the impact but Reinhardt wasn’t done. Winding up, Reinhardt picked up Reaper and threw him twenty feet in the air and straight into some flats.

Reinhardt was breathing heavily at this point. He was foolish for letting Reaper get in so close, a mistake he wouldn’t make again. He prepared for round two as he saw Reaper get up from his heap… perfectly fine!

Darkness surrounded Reaper, Reinhardt recognized this technique, he was teleporting. He planned out his next move, no doubt Reaper would teleport behind Reinhardt, a quick hammerstrike will put him down and the fight will be won!

Reaper teleported… But no where near Reinhardt. Tracer yelped and he turned to see Reaper taking her hostage, pointing a shotgun to her head and another at her chronal accelerator. 

“No! LENA!” Reinhardt roared, his boosters activating as he prepared to charge.

“Say goodbye, Tracer,” Reaper chuckled.

Tracer closed her eyes, waiting for oblivion. The crack of thunder exploded in her ear and she winced… but the pain didn’t come. Reaper was jerked backwards, as if someone pulled him back, hard. 

Tracer opened her eyes and immediately spotted the culprit. A glint in the darkness. Sniper! Her mind went into panic, to the extent she didn’t notice Reinhardt still charging toward her. She gasped, her brain still frazzled and too slow to blink away. Thick wire wrapped around her waist and jerked her away. Tracer found herself in the air, ten… twenty feet off the ground! 

She was swinging haphazardly toward a building and again was too panicked to think of blinking away. Someone crashed into her, wrapping themselves around Tracer and pulling her toward the window. They crashed through, rolling awkwardly into the room.

Tracer’s body ached, her brain felt fried and she laid on the uncomfortable floor wanting to sleep forever but she stood up and shook the disorientation from her mind. Her rescuer was already standing, staring out the window, as if looking for someone, Reaper maybe?

Lena stood, groaning and approached her hero, ready to thank them when she turned and Tracer gasped. Amélie Lacroix stood before her, no not Amélie, it was Widowmaker!

Tracer’s instinct came over her. She charged Widowmaker. Widow turned around, calmly, and put up her visor. “Okay, they have not noticed us, if we are quick we will be able to make a hasty escape--!”

Thankfully, Tracer was already injured and exhausted from her fight with Reaper otherwise the two would’ve went tumbling out of the window. She side-stepped as Tracer tried to tackle her. The girl was far too weak to put up a fight, so Widow was gentle, a little.

She placed her foot behind Tracer’s and shoved her hard. Tracer fell back and landed on the bed behind her. Widow quickly straddled Tracer’s waist, pinned her hands down with one hand and with the other covered her mouth.

“No, shh,” Widow hissed. “Be quiet, you know how good Reaper’s hearing is, he will spot us if you are loud, cherie, so keep quiet.”

Tracer nodded and with a sadistic smile Widow moved her hand from Tracer’s mouth (but still kept her hands pinned down, you know, for her safety).

“What’re you doing here?” Tracer whispered angrily, trying to push off Widow but unable to. “Why did you save me you rat!”

“Kind words for someone who saved you,” Widow purred, casually putting more pressure on Tracer’s hand making her wince a bit. “But that isn’t important. What’s important is you are alive, alright?”

Tracer reluctantly nodded and with a smile, Widow got off and helped her up. Tracer winced as pain lanced up her side and Widow frowned. “You didn’t dodge well, foolish girl…”

“Oh shut it.”

“Lift up your shirt.”

“Wha-- you mad? I ain’t doing that you looney-- Oi!”

Widow lifted up Tracer’s shirt partially and grimaced at the injury. It would be something she survived but those bruises worried her, perhaps there were broken ribs? Either way, it would inhibit her fighting ability. 

She frowned as she pulled out a med-kit and began bandaging up Tracer. Tracer winced from the pain but to her credit kept still. Widow frowned as she began to stop the bleeding and disinfect the wound, she was more injured than she let on. The idea of Tracer being hurt like this… bothered Widow, but she didn’t know why.

This was hardly the time to wonder, she continued bandaging her up, listening as Tracer whimpered from the pain but kept herself from crying out. She finished after a few minutes and backed up from Tracer as she put her shirt back down and mumbled a thanks.

For a few moments they stared at each other awkwardly, until the Londoner spoke up. “Why’d you save me?”

Widow wondered the same thing. It wasn’t something she really thought about, it was just a gut reflex. It bothered her immensely seeing Reaper so close to killing Tracer, but again the why escaped her. Widow wasn’t able to rationalize it, to reason it, to explain it logically. But she knew Tracer wouldn’t let up if she didn’t respond.

“You are my prey,” Widow responded, trying to make her voice sound as cold as possible. “Not his. I will be the one to kill you when I deem it so.”

The intended effect of that sentence failed. Tracer stared at her for a few seconds before a wide grin appeared on her face. “Ehh, you’re lying aren’t ya~”

Widow glared frostily at Tracer but again it failed to intimidate. “Of course not, I will kill you--”

“You like me~”

“I do not.”

“It’s why you patched me up innit?”

“Imbécile, you are useless if you’re hurt!”

“Admit it, you like me~” Tracer nudged Widow’s rib. “Come on Amélie--”

Widow pinned Tracer up against the wall faster than thought. Her gun changed into the automatic rifle and pressed up against Tracer’s chin, her hands pinning Tracer’s against the wall. With the scariest glare Widow could muster, she all but snarled, “Do not call me that. Amélie is dead, only I remain. Understood?”

Tracer couldn’t breathe and it wasn’t just because of her rifle.

“Is that understood?”

Tracer meekly nodded. Widow backed off, avoiding eye contact with Tracer, almost as if she were ashamed of that outburst but said nothing. She went over to the window again, putting down her visor and scanning the area.

“We must go, Reinhardt is holding off Reaper but he will not last. We need to get you out of the city.”

“What?” Tracer shook her head. “You must be mad if you think I’m abandoning him, Rein saved me.”

Widow pulled up her visor and rolled her eyes. “And that act will be useless if you go back in and save him.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“I do not recall giving you a choice.”

“What’re you gonna do, kill me?”

Widow considered that option. To the point where Tracer started to get uncomfortable. “No, not yet,” she finally decided, sighing as if that decision bothered her. “Fine, we will help your friend, but I cannot.”

“What’d you mean?”

Widow muttered something in French, Tracer got the feeling it wasn’t anything nice toward cute Londoners. “Because Reaper and I are part of Talon, cherie, if Talon or Reaper discovers I am assisting you, we will both be killed.”

“Why are you helping me anywa--”

“No.” Widow said, sighing as she thinks of a plan. “Alright, here’s what we’ll do--”

An explosion erupted on the bottom floors along with gunfire and Reinhardt laughing crazily. Widow cursed, activated her visor and looked at the floor. Grimacing, she approached Tracer and deactivated her visor. “Hit me.”

“What?”

“Hit me, didn’t you hear me?”

“Of course, just making sure you haven’t gone mental that’s all.”

Widow sighed explosively. “Again, I must conceal the fact that I am assisting you. So, Reaper needs to think we’re fighting me, idiot, so hit m--”

Tracer clocked Widow so hard she exploded through the door and into the hallway, crashing through to another room and crumbling against the wall. Reaper and Reinhardt stopped fighting as Widow crashed through in the room and they both stared at her curiously. 

“Ooh, did that hurt love?” Tracer mocked, a perfect shit-eating smile on her face.

“Amélie?!” Reinhardt shouted, pinning Reaper down with his hammer. “Lovely to see you again! You’re looking… blue.”

“I am surrounded by fools,” Widow muttered in French. “Reaper, we must disengage!”

Reaper pushed back Reinhardt’s hammer so hard, the force smashed into his helmet and he staggered back. Reaper got up and reset his dislocated shoulder like it was nothing and pulled two more shotguns from his robes. “Negative.”

Widow scowled. “Reinhardt was not anticipated, we must disengage and regroup!”

“Not a chance!” Reaper growled aiming his shotgun at Tracer. Tracer tensed, she could see that Widow was debating on her next move. What could she do? Assist Reaper in killing Tracer or assist Tracer? 

That’s when Tracer did something even she didn’t anticipate. She bull-shitted.

“Oi! Gabe!” Tracer called defiantly, despite the fact that a weapon was already trained on her. The act was so strange that even Reaper paused, waiting to see what she had up her sleeves. “Come on, mate, you don’t wanna do this! I know you’re Mr. Edgelord now, but we can work this out!”

Tracer didn’t bank on this idea working but Reaper stopped in his tracks. He took a step back, glowering at Tracer but she bet he wasn’t frowning under that expression. He looked… confused. He dropped one of his shotguns and grabbed his head, muttering under his breath. Even Widow seemed surprised by this behavior.

Images flashed in Reaper’s mind. Memories of an old base in Switzerland. A woman… Angela? No, her name was Lena Oxton. She grinned at him. She didn’t have a chronal accelerator. She wore a blue and gold uniform. An insignia for the Slipstream Squadron was on her shoulder.

“Oi, Gabe!” she said, a smile brighter than the sun on her face. “What’re you standing ‘round for?”

Reaper shook his head violently. Voices and images bursting into his mind like a broken dam. 

“Gabriel, we have a mission to accomplish,” Ana Amari scolded him with a slight smirk. “Stop flirting, let’s go.”

No. No. No.

“Do not reopen your stitches, Gabe,” Angela said, frowning as she dressed his wound. “It will be messy.”

NO. NO. NO.

“Take point, Reyes,” Jack Morrison told him. “I’ve got your back.”

The voices wouldn’t stop. They flooded his mind. All of them talking to him. All of them screaming.

He needed to shut out the voices. They were so loud!

Darkness surrounded Reaper as he clutched his head, laughing maniacally. “HahahaHAHAHA! DIE! DIE! DIE!”

He moved too fast for even Tracer to track. He spun wildly, waving his shotguns haphazardly and shooting faster than conceivable, covering every square inch with bullets. Time slowed down for Tracer.

Reaper wasn’t aiming, he would destroy everything around him until he settled. He wouldn’t even care if he killed Widow. Tracer couldn’t let that happen. 

Tracer moved the fastest she could. She moved toward Widow, the floorboards she was previously standing on exploded from her momentum. Tracer wrapped her arms around Widow’s waist and very gingerly she ran outside the flat and deposited Widow by the front door. 

Her legs felt like jelly, her insides felt as if someone had filled her stomach with lava. Tracer ran back inside the flat and ran toward Reinhardt. It would be impossible for Tracer to be able to lift Reinhardt but she had to try. 

Tracer grabbed Reinhardt’s leg and pulled as hard as she could. To her surprise, she was able to pull Reinhardt pretty damn fast. Tracer dragged Reinhardt away from the building as quickly as she could be even still that wasn’t fast enough.

She wasn’t paying attention to Reaper’s volley. A stray shot caught her in the leg and Tracer went tumbling over Reinhardt and crashed against a car, passed out. Time sped up and the complex was completely destroyed by Reaper but Widow, Reinhardt and Tracer were able to escape. 

Reinhardt sat up weakly, wondering how the hell he got out here and why his armor’s right leg joint was completely shattered. Ten feet away Tracer lay, unconscious, with Widowmaker above her. As best he could, Reinhardt sat up and wielded his hammer. 

“Amélie,” he said, approaching the sniper cautiously. “While I am glad to see you, if you intend to harm Lena, I will put you down.”

“Not now,” Widow answered grimly, taking Tracer’s pulse. “We need to take her to a safe place, she is hurt.”


	5. The Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took ages to write ugh. It doesn't help that I have a few dozen other things half-finished for Overwatch as well but the fight scenes were the hardest to write. I'm normally good with fighting but I felt I was dragging things on or making Jack Morrison appear infallible as a fighter. Whatever the case is, I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Edit: Initially there was supposed to be a link to a song that was supposed to play throughout Jack's fight in the club but I was so burned out after finishing this chapter (I finished at like midnight) that I posted the chapter without the link. The link is added in, just in case you wanna read it through again!

Jack Morrison stood a block from the nightclub, scoping it out as best he could with little equipment. Despite the darkness, Jack could see perfectly as clubgoers herded into the establishment drunkenly tripping over each other. Jack took a deep breath and calmed his nerves.

It wasn’t as if this mission was something inherently dangerous (nothing on par with the assignment in Bangladesh, that’s for sure) but there was something scary about doing something like this. All his life, Jack followed the rules. He upheld his morals and ideas while remaining restricted in the established rules, if there was a line he wouldn’t dare cross it. Sure, he would tow the line, maybe bend it, but crossing it was something different.

There was a difference between fighting for a cause to help others and fighting for yourself. That’s what he was doing. This wasn’t a sanctioned mission by an officer in CENTCOM. This was vigilantism.

That’s what Jack was. 

No.

He wasn’t a vigilante. Jack Morrison is and always will be a soldier. Same war, different battleground. Jack zipped up his coat, it wasn’t very cold but he couldn’t stop shivering. The London air was thick, making him feel asthmatic again.

With confidence, Jack strode toward the club. 

The bouncers were walls of muscles in black shirts and earpieces, even from this distance Jack could spot the old, faded military tattoos on their arms. Getting past them would be simple if he simply knocked them out, but he couldn’t alert his target, he would have to go past them. 

Thirty seconds later, he found the back entrance and slipped inside. 

It was apparently some sort of retro, classic night. The clubgoers were dressed in older styled clothes from the early 2010s, the music apparently followed this theme. [The music blared](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVqhKVnBbfI) as Jack waded through the crowd, effortlessly slipping past the awkward dancers, avoiding spilled drinks and clumsy people.

Scanning the VIP section above, Jack could spot his target. It was an arms dealer from Dublin, he apparently held a toehold in the Helix Security Systems and supplied extremists from around the world with military-grade tech and weaponry. Jack needed a talk with this man.

Jack was instantly spotted, damn, his security detail were better than he anticipated. To be fair, it wasn’t exactly hard to spot Jack with his silver hair, face scars and leather jacket. The first guy was lunged at him, his footing poor due to the crowd of people by him. Jack stepped aside from the wide punch, elbowed him in the face and tripped him up. The crowd gasped, awkwardly parting around the dispute but nothing was able to stop their dancing.

Jack hurried through the crowd, thankfully he didn’t have to push too much as whenever people saw him they immediately moved out of the way. Jack looked up, his security guards were warning him. Shit. He’s going to get away!

Jack picked up the speed and three more guards came rushing at him. They were getting caught up in the crowd so this would be easy. Jack charged. He ducked under the first strike and retaliated with a palm strike on his chin, dazed, Jack grabbed him and tossed him into his next pal and the two crumbled against the wall.

The last dude punched, Jack dodged, grabbed his arm, broke it at the elbow and clocked him clean in the jaw, knocking him out. Looking up, Jack cursed as he noticed his guards escorting him toward the front entrance. It would be a pain in the ass to deal with the tremendous amount of security in the front, but Jack hurried on. 

Sprinting toward the VIP section, Jack leapt and in a single bound easily cleared the ten foot tall jump. The VIPs left in the area screeched and scattered as soon as Jack landed, good, less collateral damage. 

Two security guards charged him. Jack met them halfway. Ducking the first punch, Jack kneed Guard #1 in the stomach, making him double over, gagging. Guard #2 swung a right hook, Jack spun around, dodging easily and countered with a hook of his own. Guard #2 was much tougher than he anticipated, he was still standing after that punch. Jack decided to be merciful.

Before Guard #2 could recover, Jack grabbed his left leg and tossed him into the back wall, shattering the glass. A third man appeared and reached into his coat. Jack closed the distance between them in a second, grabbed his hand and twisted. Bones cracked and crumble under his grip, the guard screamed.

Grabbing his face, Jack ran forward and leapt, pulling the guard with him, and slammed the back of his head against a table and came back up sprinting. He could see the “VIP” veered to the right and toward a side exit, good, taking it to the street would be easiest for Jack. 

Sprinting as hard as he could, he was able to make it toward the exit just as it closed. Ramming his shoulder against the metal door, he tore it off its hinges and it crashed toward one of the guards, knocking him out.

Jack looked around the alley. There were five guys in total, not counting his target, all of them easily weighing in at 220-250 pounds, all of them seemingly armed. There was a car parked in the alley with a driver inside (make that six guys in total) and his target was heading toward the car. 

Jack pounced. He grabbed the first two guys by the hands, preventing them from reaching into their coats and getting their weapons and pulled downward. They both slammed their heads into the concrete. Taking a single step, Jack made it to the car and kicked his target into it. He groaned as he crashed into the car door and collapsed.

Spinning around, Jack kicked out the leg of Dude #3, he fell face-first into the ground. Dude #4 and 5 charged, brandishing bowie knives. He dodged the first two strikes simultaneously and punched Dude #5 straight in the face, he went flying back toward the car. Dude #4 swung downward, slashing at Jack. Jack caught his hand mid-flight and slammed downward and his knife went cleanly into his own shin. Dude #4 screamed in pain. 

Jumping, Jack kicked Dude #4 in the face across the jaw. Landing, Jack planted a firm kick into his ribs. He felt body-armor under his boot so he pushed off hard and Dude #4 crumbled against the wall, unconscious.

Dudes #1 2 3 and 5 got back up and charged at the same time. Side-stepping, Jack dodged the strikes, grabbed Dude #2’s head and slammed his knee against his face. Dudes 1 and 3 were next, Jack ducked, dodging the wide grabs and elbowed Dude #5 while push-kicking #3 into #1 and they were both knocked out.

To make sure they would stay down, Jack hip-tossed Dude #5 into the wall, ran up, and slammed his face against it. Growling, Jack glanced at his target, whimpering as he struggled to open the door but was too dazed and confused for it. The driver stepped out of his car and brandished a pistol. 

Quickly, Jack ducked against the car, taking cover as he opened fire. Stupidly, however, the driver emptied his clip against the trunk of the car. Jack sprang out, leaping over the car in a single bound and kicking the driver, sending him flying against the wall. His target struggled to his feet and pulled out his own pistol.

Jack wasn’t having that. He ran over to his target, grabbed his pistol hand and with his free hand cupped his throat. Slamming his target against the wall, he smashed his hand into the brick wall to disarm him. Jack growled as he held him up against the wall, easily able to bear his weight.

“Sean Murphy,” Jack growled, squeezing his throat so he wouldn’t scream. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“W-who the hell are ya?!” Sean yelped, gasping for breath as Jack tightened his grip. 

“A man looking for guns, I heard you’re in the business for that sort of thing.”

“No way mate.” Sean’s face was turning blue. “I don’t mess ‘round with those kindsa things!” 

Jack threw Sean overhead, against the car. The Irishman cursed as he groaned in pain, rolling around. Picking Sean up with one hand, he slammed him against the car hood, hand against his throat. “Give me another BS answer like that, you’ll experience worse than your lackeys. I need to get into Helix.”

Sean sputtered, “W-What?! You’re crazy you feckin’ twat! No way you’ll be able to get in ther-- AHH!”

Jack planted a swift punch against his solar plexus, hitting something soft. “I need your access code and maybe I’ll let you off easy…”

“F-fine, fine!” Sean said. “J-just let me go, mate!”

Jack smiled, this was easier than he expected. “Good.” Hoisting Sean up to his feet, Jack proceeded to the car door and was about to open it when he got interrupted.

“Whoa, whoa, what’ve we got here?”

Jack’s blood turned ice-cold.

He turned toward the voice and they were standing by the exit. Four people, clad in thick black body armor and combat fatigues with heavy, iron-toed boots, watched Jack as he attempted to take Sean.

Two guys, two girls, Jack instantly recognized this group. 

Mark Wilson was in the front, the secondest tallest of the bunch at 6’1’’. He had a powerful, muscular build contained in his black shirt and body-armor. With his blond hair, roguish smile and tanned complexion, he would’ve looked like your standard, generic action hero. But the pale white star-shaped scar that engulfed the right half of his face, covering his eye, made him looking villainous in this dim lighting.

Li Zhang towered over everyone at an imposing 6’6’’ with the body build more akin to a brick house than an actual human. Muscles upon muscles, Jack was surprised he was able to find a shirt he could wear without tearing it up. His dark hair was closely cropped and matched his nearly black eyes. Despite his baby-face and almost kindly smile, Jack knew Li was strong and capable enough to crack pavement.

Beatrice Caito stood beside Mark. She was thin and lithe but impossibly fast, perhaps the fastest out of them all with a particular fondness for knives. Last time he saw her she had hip-length black hair but now it was closely shaved with bear claw patterns shaved into the sides of her hair. She watched, brown eyes twinkling with amusement, as her fingers delicately twirled a serrated knife with impossible dexterity.

Finally, Isla Valdez was tucked in-between the men. She was so whisper-silent and impossibly still that tracking her was incredibly difficult. She wore a black hoodie over her body armor with her face obscured in the shadows of her hood but Jack could see her expression. Her brown eyes were fixed with indifference and apathy but she was studying Jack as if seeing him for the first time. Brown curly hair poked out from her hood. She was the smallest of the bunch at an amusing 4’9’’ but just as dangerous as the rest.

Mark grinned as he stepped forward, squinting at Jack. “Is that you Jackie-boy?”

Jack took a reflexive step back. “Oi, oi, get me outta here!” Sean gasped. “What am I paying you lot for?!”

“No prob,” Mark said. “Just having a talk with an old friend of ours, if that’s alright?”

This is bad. 

One of them Jack could handle, no problem, but four? His head ran through the multiple ways this could go down. None of them were good. These guys would kill him if he tried to run. They were from Jack’s Super-Soldier days. The Red Team.

Mark, Li, Beatrice, Isla -- Soldiers-88, -42, -17, and -06 respectively -- were members of the United State’s Army’s Enhancement program: Project Perseus, designed to create elite soldiers for dangerous missions. Back in the good ol’ days after they went through their augmentation process, the soldiers who survived were put into teams and made to practice war games against each other. 

This was Red Team, Jack and Gabriel were part of Blue Team. They had a tendency to fight a lot more intensely during the war games. 

When the program was shut down, Jack wasn’t sure what happened to the rest of the soldiers, if they were ever deployed he didn’t hear anything about it. Jack had heard rumors of covert operations being run by these super soldiers but never had an opportunity to chase them down. 

Well, that’s one mystery solved.

“Jackie-Boy,” Mark called out, still smiling. “Can’t believe you’re still alive, man, heard you croaked in Switzerland. The hell happened?”

“He doesn’t look very well,” sneered Beatrice. “You were always the golden boy, Jackie. Whatcha doing way out here? Shouldn’t you be saving the world?”

“What about you B?” Jack asked. “A hired merc paid to protect scum?”

Beatrice smiled innocently. “Well, with our skillset we ain’t got nothing left to do but to kill. That’s what we were made for!” 

Beatrice pulled back the sleeve of her shirt to reveal her cybernetic prosthetic. “Seems you’ve been doing the same thing, Jackie.”

“Gonna have to ask you to put our client down,” Li interjected, his tone soft yet menacing. “We’ve been paid a hefty amount to protect him.”

“Not gonna happen,” Jack growled, putting himself firmly between Red Team and Sean. “I suggest you walk away.”

“Always the boy scout,” Mark chuckled. “Come on, Jackie. Still trying to play hero? After all this time?”

“I’m not a hero,” Jack corrected. “But I’m a hell of lot better than this scumbag, better than you, protecting him?”

Beatrice shrugged. “The Army made us into weapons, didn’t tell us what side we had to be on, Narciso. One way or another, it don’t matter. Just another asshole pointing us at the enemy and telling us who to kill, except this time we get paid a lot more.”

“Feckin’ useless, GET ME OUT OF HERE!” Sean yelled, only to receive a swift punch to the face by Jack.

“You really don’t wanna do this, Jackie,” Mark said, still smiling. “Just let our client go and you can walk away… Or hell, even join us. We could use you.”

Jack paused and considered what he said. His jaw clenched in determination, Jack glared darkly at the group, at the former prestigious Red Team. “No.”

Mark sighed explosively. “Always been the hero--”

“I’m not,” Jack interrupted. “I need this guy. He has access to weapons and tech that I need to use, that’s all he is to me, an asset. After that… I’m coming after you, one by one if need be. But since we know each, since we were friends, I’ll offer you a chance. Retire. Run away, slink in a dark hole and never come back, otherwise, I will find you and I will put you down.”

Red Team didn’t enjoy that answer. Their jovial, almost carefree expressions melted into glares, fierce scowls. Jack recognized the look, Soldiers in the program when anticipating a battle would undergo a damn near personality change. They would behave almost robotically, systematically attacking with almost little regard for anything other than the objective. Sometimes Jack wondered if they were worse than the ANUBIS controlled Omnics.

This fight will be difficult, Jack can’t afford to hold back. Pulling back, Jack stomped hard on Sean’s knee, snapping his leg. Sean screamed as he collapsed into a heap. Jack couldn’t tell if they were armed but it would be a safe assumption. 

“Come on.”

Beatrice was the quickest, as usual. She charged in like a blur, her metal arm swinging wide at Jack. If Jack dodged he would catch a knife to the gut but blocking wasn’t an ideal solution either. Jack stepped in rapidly, catching Beatrice’s swing as he gripped both her shoulders. Before she could recover, Jack kneed her in the gut, hard. 

She choked and gagged and Jack spun around, throwing her down the alley. Jack turned and caught a right hook to his jaw. Yelping, Jack was slammed back into the car. His eyes swam, his brain felt like mush, stars dotted his vision. He knew the next attack would be coming, Jack lashed out blindly but his awkward punch hit nothing.

He blinked the stars from his vision in time to see a massive fist drop down on his abdomen. Li slammed his fist right into Jack’s chest and his lungs exploded, his ribs felt like jelly. It felt like there was a mountain of steel sitting on his chest.

“Give up,” Li said, his voice was no longer soft, it was cool and detached like nitrogen. “You cannot win.”

Jack didn’t bother to respond, even if he wanted to he wasn’t sure he could. He struggled to push Li’s fist off but couldn’t. Jack wrapped his legs around Li’s arm and spun as hard as he could. His arm-lock was successful and Li was thrown off balanced on the floor, Jack perfectly had his arm pinned down.

“Ooh, nice technique,” Mark said, grinning. “Come on, Li, you’re strong enough to break out of that!”

Jack didn’t hesitate. He pulled back Li’s arm as hard as he could and broke it at the elbow. To Li’s credit he didn’t scream but it was probably due to the large amount of adrenaline pumping through his veins. Instead, Li snatched his arm back, trying to grab Jack but he released his grip and rolled away.

Mark charged forward, kicking Jack right in the back. He turned around quickly to block the next strike but was too slow, a roundhouse kick caught Jack in his chin and he spun around from the impact. A leg sweep from Beatrice tripped up Jack and his head slammed against the pavement. Stars exploded in his vision and hastily he placed up his guard but Mark was an expert in fighting.

He landed a few blows to Jack’s ribs before aiming for his face. Jack caught the fist and was about to retaliate but Mark kicked him across the jaw. Jack rolled away, coughing. Every breath felt painful, his ribs felt like jelly.

“You’re good, Jack,” Mark grinned. “Not that good.”

“Fuck off.”

Jack charged Mark. He saw Beatrice reach for the knife in her hip holster, so he stopped her. Grabbing her hand, he squeezed hard and kept it there. Turning, Jack kicked Mark right in the gut and he rolled back awkwardly. 

Beatrice swung her cybernetic arm at Jack but he ducked and caught her arm between his shoulder and chin. Spinning around, Jack kicked Li in the stomach and picked Beatrice up easily and slammed her against the car hood.

Jack raised his fist to knock Beatrice out but she reacted quicker. She kicked Jack square in the jaw and he staggered back. Arms wrapped around his middle and Jack was too stunned to counter the suplex that came. 

Mark lifted Jack in the air and at the apex of throw he released Jack partially and slammed him down with one arm. Blood filled his mouth as the back of his head crashed into the pavement. Jack groaned as Mark began to strangle him with one hand.

Jack struggled to push Mark off but he squeezed his throat if he tried to move. “Sorry, Jackie boy… ya don’t win this time…” 

Beatrice giggled, strolled up to Jack and kicked him across the chin. “I always wanted to put a bullet between those pretty blue eyes of yours.”

Mark brandished a pistol and placed it firmly on Jack’s forehead. “Heard you were in that explosion in Switzerland, not surprised you survived that… But a bullet would be harder, wouldn’t it?”

“Stop.”

Isla pointed her gun right at Mark, Jack watched as the tiny girl slowly approached them. The other soldiers weren’t very surprised or even bothered by this sudden betrayal and watched her with keen interest. Mark grinned, turning to face her.

“You gonna shoot me?” Mark asked. “Really?”

Isla had covered her face with a mask that must have had photo-reactive panels on it as the pattern shifted from shadows and darkness, except two glowing purple eyes staring blankly at them. “If you make a sudden move, sure,” Isla answered, her voice calm, detached almost robotic.

“Aw, come on, Isla,” Mark groaned. “Gotta ruin all the fun!”

“Jack has a point, fighting for a better cause than this,” Isla reasoned, her mask shifting into despondent gray. “Instead of being this… Hired guns for scum.”

“Oi, feck off, beaner,” Sean grumbled. 

Isla calmly reached into her pocket and shot the arms-dealer in his good knee. He screamed bloody murder as he rolled in pain.

“You’re delusional!” Beatrice cried, ignoring her client’s cries of pain. “Thinkin’ you’re some… do-gooder. We’re weapons, that’s all.”

“We have a choice,” countered Isla. “You may have made your choice, but I haven’t… Not yet.”

“Then why did you join us?” Li asked.

Isla shrugged. “I was following a lead… Now, I’m getting a bit sick of you guys.”

“Same here.” Mark squeezed the trigger but Isla was faster.

He fell, soundlessly to the side, a trail of blood following the wound etched into his head. Jack coughed and gasped for air as his throat was now spared the pressure from Mark’s strangulation and stared, aghast at Isla’s wordless murder.

Li sighed, more disappointed than angry. “Well… One less cut.”

He charged Isla and reached out for a grab. Jack struggled to his feet and went to assist but Isla disappeared. Jack wondered if he was suffering brain damage because she literally disappeared from sight as Li grabbed at empty air.

Isla reappeared as if breaking reality and stepping out from the shadows besides Li. Her pistol was aimed at his head. 

“Wait!” Jack cried but she fired. 

Li collapsed in a heap.

Beatrice sighed explosively, scratching her head. “Damnit. Well, it’s me or you then Isla!”

Isla tossed something at Beatrice but she swatted it away with her cybernetic arm and charged. “Ha! Missed!” But electricity arced through her metallic arm and fell limp at her side. Beatrice only had a moment to glance at the miniature electromagnetic pulse attached to the shoulder of her arm when Isla took aim and fired.

“A shame,” sighed Isla as she inspected the corpses. “They could have been useful.”

Jack took a breath and fire bleed into his ribs and every neuron felt as if they were on fire. The damage he took would heal pretty damn fast over time but it still hurt. “What do you mean?”

Isla shook her head. “Nothing, are you injured?” 

Jack chuckled, the act made his chest ache. “Is that a joke?”

Isla pocketed her pistol and brandished a tiny canister with a nozzle. She strode toward Jack but he took a reflexive step back. Jack wasn’t able to scrutinize her expression because of her mask but she didn’t seem offended. “Biotic foam,” she explained, showing him the canister. “Seals wounds while sterilizing them and hastening the healing process.”

“Fancy.”

“Helps to be prepared,” Isla countered. “Didn’t help you to look into Sean’s security detail more thoughtfully, did it?”

Jack kept his mouth shut and took a seat on the now-dented hood of the car. He raised his shirt and winced at how bruised he was. Isla took the nozzle carefully and pointed it between his ribs. “You may feel a slight pinch.”

Jack nearly jumped as Isla practically stabbed him with the nozzle. “I said you may feel a pinch.”

She applied the foam and it felt like she was injecting ice into his rib-cage. It filled his chest cavity, the nice cool feeling offered relief and whenever he took a breath it didn’t hurt nearly as much. Isla withdrew the canister and shook it. “Ah, empty.”

Pulling his shirt down, he watched Isla warily. She was disturbingly okay with shooting her former comrades in the head for… what exactly? To help out Jack? It was fishy, Jack was never able to pin down her loyalties.

“Why’d you help me?” Jack asked.

Isla shrugged. “Not a fan of the client, not a fan of my squad, got bored… Take your pick, mijo.”

Jack looked over at Sean to make sure he hadn’t died from shock. He was laid by the car, bleeding and unconscious but alive. “Damn,” Jack grumbled, going over to attend to his injuries. “I had a few questions for him.”

“Thought you just wanted some weapons for him?”

Jack shrugged. “A friend of mine… Disappeared two nights ago. News outlets say she was involved in a terrorist act near King’s Row.”

Isla nodded, pulling out a phone and checking the news, tapping rapidly. “Tracer?” she read. “I was always a fan of hers.”

“I need to find her,” Jack said. “But I need weapons. This guy can provide the weapons and maybe some answers about Tracer.”

Isla whistled as she quickly figured out his plan. “You plannin’ to break into Helix?”

“Worth a shot.”

“Not worth getting shot,” she countered. Isla thought for a moment then reached into her coat and pulled out a strange black device. It was palm sized and didn’t have any writing on it. “This will probably be able to disable the security network at Helix.”

“Probably?” Jack took the device and tested its weight.

“Nothing’s guaranteed, Jack.”

Jack paused for a moment, studying Isla’s strange mask that shifted patterns. She was practically the definition of an enigma. Thanks to his now-enhanced body, Jack had perfect memory recall but sometimes it was impossible to remember what Isla looked like when she wasn’t wearing the mask.

Isla shifted under Jack’s stare, revealing a bare neck underneath her hoodie. Tattoo on the side of her neck was the number 22. Strange, was that always there?

“Thanks, Isla. I appreciate your help.”

“Not a problem. You should probably get going though, someone is bound to have heard this mess. I’ll take care of the bodies.”

Jack nodded and pocketed the device. With one arm he hefted Sean up and tossed him into the car. “Oh and Jack,” Isla called. “Don’t call me by my name, I never liked it.”

“Fine, fine.” Jack closed the door of the car and headed to the driver’s side. “I’ll see ya later then, Sombra.”


	6. The Traitor

Tracer’s eyes flitted open and the poor girl winced as every cell in her body ached with pain. A cool hand rested on top of her feverish forehead, alleviating some of the discomfort but the pain was enough to make Tracer nauseous. 

Moving to her side, Tracer began gagging, shutting her eyes as the bright light blinded her. Someone began rubbing her shoulder and muttering something in French. Wait,  _ French _ ? Tracer turned her head back around and looked at her caretaker.

Widowmaker had Tracer on her lap, soothing the Londoner and trying to take care of her. Tracer was so tired she didn’t even complain, merely asking, “Where?...”

“Shh,” Widow whispered, running her hand through Tracer’s hair. “They will hear.”

“Who?”

Widow didn’t answer instead craning her head upward to look out a window? Where were they? The heat and humidity hit Tracer like Reaper’s shotgun, they certainly weren’t in brisk London anymore. Where was Reinhardt? Where was Reaper? Why was Widow still here? Why--

Tracer sat up instantly, doubling over as she gagged. Widow didn’t complain, merely moving to Tracer and pulling her hair back as she threw up. Widow kept whispering in French which was nice but didn’t answer any of her questions.

“Quiet, Lena,” Widow whispered. “The State Troopers will be gone soon.”

What? Troopers?

Wiping her mouth, Tracer groggily peeked out the window Widow was looking out of. It looked like they were in the middle of nowhere. Cornfields stretched as far as the eye could see along a winding interstate road. The sun beat down high on, making the road warp and distort in the light.

Three police cars were parked about twenty feet from their location, bearing the logo of the Indiana State Police agency on the side. They had pulled over a massive ancient pickup truck and at least seven officers and a K9 unit were surrounding the truck.

Tracer wondered why there were so many officers for one truck until she saw the driver. 

Reinhardt stood by the truck, laughing and talking as calmly as he could to the officers as they interviewed him. Next to Reinhardt the officers looked like children, being easily dwarfed by his size. He wasn’t wearing his armor, which Tracer found odd, but instead a red and black checkered shirt (sized XXXL), comfortable looking jeans and work boots.

He was rather charismatic for a towering German being surrounded by police and the officers must’ve liked him as well as they chuckled and smiled at his jokes. Tracer was about to ask Widow what was going on but the sniper pressed a finger to her lips, silently saying,  _ “I’ll explain later.” _

But Tracer could put two and two together. 

Somehow they had friggin’ got to the  _ United States _ in a matter of hours, got to Indiana and were on the lam. Simple. Except the million questions exploding in Tracer’s head, or maybe that was just her headache.

Tracer understood why  _ Widow _ was hiding, but not why Tracer had to. Until one of the officers showed Reinhardt a picture. From this far away it was difficult to distinguish what it was but Tracer could spot her bright orange pants and glowing Chronal Accelerator from here. It was a blurry picture of Tracer running in East End, London.

They were looking for her.

Tracer doubted it was for her autograph as well.

The thought chilled her blood. Tracer sat back down, leaning against the wall, gobsmacked. Widow didn’t say anything, she sat across from Tracer watching her warily as if deciding what to do or say. Widow didn’t look very good either (or maybe that was due to her blue skin). Her hair was let down in tangles, her eyes were rimmed red, cuts and bruises scarred her face. She had even traded her bodysuit for a casual t-shirt from the Indianapolis International Airport gift shop, shorts that showed off her long legs and sneakers.

Tracer looked down at her own outfit, unsurprised to find she was wearing something different as well. 

Her aviator’s jacket was cut off of her body leaving her with her simple white t-shirt. Her Chronal Accelerator was still on her chest, buzzing quietly. Her trousers were removed and replaced with shorts (blimey her legs got tanned as well, how long was she out for?) and only her shoes were left intact.

Tracer looked at Widow and pointed at her face. Widow got the message, brandished a little bag and handed it to her. Tracer pulled out a small mirror and examined the reflection. 

Blimey, Tracer looked rough. 

Dark circles ringed her eyes along with healing cuts and bruises along her face. Her freckles were lost in Tracer’s now tanned complexion. Tracer’s signature spiky hair was now down and let loose over her forehead, reaching down to her shoulders.

Her hands shaking, Tracer put away the mirror and slid the bag back to Widow. What the hell happened? Tracer remembered saving Widow and Reinhardt but the rest… ugh. She was going to be ill again.

Thankfully, the police cars drove off and Tracer heard Reinhardt calling after the officers, recommending them to listen to Hasselhoff.

“Come, it is safe now,” Widow said, standing and offering a hand to Tracer.

Weakly, the girl took it and stepped outside.

They were hiding in a shed parked by a derelict petrol station. Tracer had no clue where exactly they were but it was definitely middle of nowhere.

Reinhardt spotted Tracer and Widow and burst out in a broad smile. “Lena!” he boomed. “Come, come! We must get you some food and water! I have Doritos!” 

Tracer didn’t feel well enough for Doritos but she took a sandwich and nibbled on it as they sat and talked by the car. Tracer and Widow sat in the back of the pickup truck while Reinhardt was on the floor, stilling towering over them as he sat. Widow kept watching Tracer as she ate but she didn’t complain, she was too tired to.

“First off, what happened?” Tracer asked, her voice crackly. She took a drink of water. 

“I am not sure, really,” Reinhardt admitted, still smiling broadly. “All I remember was one moment, I was inside the building, the next I was outside! You saved me and Amélie!”

Tracer winced, expecting Widow to snipe Reinhardt right then and there but she didn’t do anything, just kept watching Tracer.

“Gabriel was gone as well,” Reinhardt continued, his smile turning into a frown. “We had to move you, so we ran. We, ah,  _ commandeered _ a vehicle, fled to a nearby airfield and flew straight here.”

“Not exactly  _ straight _ here,” Widow corrected, frowning. 

“Ah, yes, well, first we landed in New York--”

“ _ Crashed _ is more like it.”

“Got a car and drove to Indiana!”

“How… long was I out for?” Tracer asked, fearing the response.

Reinhardt looked uncomfortable, he tore tiny bits of his sandwich out, tossing them aside for the nearby birds. “Well, about that Lena… You see, you--”

“Two weeks.” Widow answered bluntly.

“What?!”

Tracer stood up immediately but regretted the action. Her mind swam and her stomach flipped. Widow stood, taking Tracer’s arm and gently sitting her down. After ten seconds, Tracer’s vision cleared. “W-what do you mean. I was out for  _ two _ weeks?”

Widow frowned. From here it looked like she was mad, pissed or impatient by Tracer but the more she looked at her the more Tracer thought her frown looked like… concern?

“You weren’t waking up,  _ mäuschen _ ,” Reinhardt explained, his one good eye brimming with concern. “We weren’t sure what to do. At one point, your chronal accelerator… deactivated? You began to fade before our eyes!”

Tracer was speechless. Had she damaged her chronal accelerator in that fight? The idea of fading away again scared her. Tracer’s chest felt tight and it was getting harder to breathe. Widow put an arm around Tracer’s, her skin was cool to the touch despite the weather.

“Reinhardt could not contact anyone from Overwatch,” Widow said. “And Talon was looking for me, so he thought the best choice was the Overwatch History Museum, out here.”

Tracer stared at Widow, wondering why she was still here. Wondering why she hadn’t incapacitated Reinhardt and killed Tracer while she was unconscious. 

“Amélie looked after you, most of the time,” Reinhardt said, to Widow’s horror. The assassin frowned, her blue skin turned slightly purple. Was she even  _ capable _ of blushing? “The two of you hide in the back of the truck as I drove, I looked more normal than you two. She didn’t even sleep she was so concerned--”

“ _ Wilhelm _ ,” Widow growled. “I have  _ already _ explained myself. I do not require much sleep, therefore I was the optimal choice when watching over Tracer.”

“What about her clothes?” Reinhardt asked. “You changed her.”

Widow’s blush deepened. “I-- she was getting a fever! It was to keep her safe, our primary objective!”

“And her hair?”

Widow’s hand flinched like she wanted to grab for her rifle but it wasn’t by her side. “ _ Reinhardt! _ ”

Tracer felt her cheeks heat up and it wasn’t because of the weather. “B-but the police, why were we hiding from them?”

Widow turned her glare on Tracer but that was probably her default expression. “I am an agent of Talon and an international assassin, the police wouldn’t be fans of mine.”

“And they are after you because of this.” Reinhardt pulled out a copy of the Telegraph. Tracer stared at the headline in horror.

_ FORMER OVERWATCH AGENT CHARGED WITH TREASON, LINKS TO TERRORIST CELL DISCOVERED _ .

Tracer snatched the newspaper and read it. Apparently the damage that Reaper had done had leveled the entire building, injuring dozens of people and killing dozens more. Tracer was blamed for that, they accused her of being a  _ terrorist _ . There was an accompanying picture of Tracer being carried by Widow as they fled the scene.

_ “Known assassin and former acquaintance of Overwatch, Amélie Lacroix, is seen here carrying Lena Oxton, callsign: Tracer, as they escape the destroyed building adjacent of King’s Row. Eye-witnesses place Oxton at the scene as the building exploded, the former pilot was apparently injured from her own terrorist act, requiring Lacroix to escort her to safety. The United Nations condemn her actions and working in a joint-operation with Interpol and the CIA to detain--” _

Tracer dropped the newspaper, staring at the paper in wide-eyed shock. She was branded a  _ terrorist _ ?  _ Her _ ? But she-- that wasn’t…

Her breathing picked up as panic welled up in her chest in a lump. Tears poured from her eyes as she ran her hand through her hair in a panic. Widow wrapped her arms around Tracer and hugged her. Tracer calmed down, mostly in shock and confusion, as Widow squeezed her gingerly, shushing her gently.

Reinhardt stood as well, picking up the two girls and hugging them as well. “It is alright, Lena,” Reinhardt told her, his voice quiet and comforting. “It will be okay. We will deal with this,  _ mäuschen _ .”

Tracer nodded mutely, looking at Widow. The assassin’s expression looked anguished, as if she didn’t know what to do. It must have been hard on her as well. With that picture out in the world, Widow would be branded a traitor, there was no denying that she was helping Tracer. Talon would be coming after her to kill her.

Widow was no longer an agent of Talon, she wasn’t Overwatch. She must’ve felt as lost as Tracer had.

Reinhardt put the girls down and Widow let go of Tracer. “Finish your food,” Widow instructed. “You will need your strength.”

 

~==~

By the time they were halfway to the Overwatch History Museum, a twenty minute drive mind you, Tracer had eaten two weeks worth of food and she still felt a bit peckish. Since Reinhardt was so big he took up most of the front seats, Tracer and Widow were crammed in the back. The thought of her being back here with Widow, unconscious made her squirm a bit.

“Thank you,” Widow said. Tracer looked up, in confusion, but Widow refused to make eye-contact.

“For what, mate?”

“Saving me,” Widow answered, looking out the window. “You didn’t have to save me from Reaper, but you did. Thank you.”

“What’d you mean, I didn’t have to save you?” Tracer said, frowning. “You saved me first. Plus, we’re mates. Or we were. Or we are… ugh, I don’t know.”

“We are…  _ mates _ who try to kill each other now and again,” Widow said, a smile forming on her face.

“Sounds like me mates from secondary school,” Tracer giggled. “But… yeah, if you want to be.”

Widow stared at Tracer for a few seconds then shrugged. “I must get some rest,” she sighed. “I didn’t get much sleep whilst you were out. You  _ drool _ in your sleep, by the way,  _ cherie _ .  _ Bonne nuit _ .”

Widow put down her visor, leaned back and promptly fell asleep. Tracer wondered just how tired she was and contemplated sleeping as well but she had had enough sleep for a while. Tracer leaned against the partition and into the front two seats. “Ya think Widow’s alright?” Tracer asked.

“What do you mean?” 

Tracer leaned forward more, turned down the radio, and glanced back at the sleeping Widowmaker. “I  _ mean _ she seems more…  _ nice _ ?”

“Amélie was always kind."

“Amélie was, not Widow,” Tracer said, rubbing her sore throat from the last time she strangled her. “It’s like… whatever Talon did to her seems to be, I dunno, wearin’ off?”

“It is possible,” Reinhardt hummed. “Perhaps her condition requires… upkeep, like my armor and your chronal accelerator.”

“The longer away she is from Talon, the more…” Tracer didn’t want to say normal. “She changes?”

“Perhaps,” Reinhardt considered. “We do not know her full condition, what kind of brainwashing she underwent.”

Maybe it could be reversed, Tracer thought. She was behaving uncharacteristically kind and warm. Maybe it had to do with the thought of Talon now hunting her down. Maybe it had to do with her condition weakening. Maybe it had to do with her increased exposure to Tracer and Reinhardt.

Too many maybes. Too many variables, it was frustrating. It would be nice to have Widow on her side, er  _ their _ side that is. But what does Widow even want? 

Half an hour had passed before they reached the museum. Tracer leaned in and gently shook Widow by her shoulder, the assassin woke up rapidly and pulled away from Tracer quickly, wincing.

Widow cursed rapidly in French as she grabbed her arm. “W-wha-- sorry love,” Tracer said, leaning in to help but Widow scooted back further.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Widow cursed again. “I heal fast.”

“I told you, let me reset your arm,” Reinhardt chastised gently.

“It is  _ fine _ , Reinhardt.”

“Wait, what happened to your arm?” Tracer asked.

Widow’s expression morphed into one of guilt, Tracer supposed it was hard to maintain a poker face while in pain. “My shoulder was dislocated when… when you grabbed me. Moving me at the speed of sound was too much, even for my body.”

“What?” Tracer gasped,  _ she _ had caused that? “I’m so sorry love, I thought--”

“It is fine,” Widow snapped. “I reset my shoulder, it is still a bit stiff but it should heal.”

Tracer felt a pang of guilt. She thought she was gentle when she handled Widow but physics wasn’t on her side this time. “Wait, what about you Rein, are you alright?”

Reinhardt parked the car outside the museum and chuckled. “I am okay. My armor took the brunt of the damage, the right leg was completely destroyed but I am unharmed.”

Guilt racked Tracer but she was glad that Reinhardt wasn’t hurt and that Widow’s injuries weren’t anymore severe. “Um, sorry again love--”

Widow grabbed Tracer’s cheeks and squeezed them to shut her up, moving Tracer’s face close to Widow, she all but snarled, “Do  _ not _ apologize,  _ cherie _ . It will make your efforts to save us useless. I’d rather be hurt and alive than dead.”

Widow gently, but firmly, pushed Tracer back and went back to rubbing her hurt shoulder, still glaring at Tracer. It took Tracer a moment to realize she was only glaring because of the pain. Her cheeks turned red despite herself.

The group set out to the museum. It was a simple silver building that gleamed in the sunlight but still in scenic nowhere. A massive statue of Jack Morrison was out front, saluting the patrons as they entered. The museum was a beautiful celebration of the success of Overwatch but now was largely abandoned and left alone to crumble away.

It was a depressing sight, Overwatch was over for barely a month and things were already going downhill. Tracer nearly died several time and now she was branded a terrorist and hunted internationally, her friend/assassin is going to be hunted down by a terrorist organization and her other former friend is now an undead, immortal monster that tried to kill her.

Tracer looked at Widow and poked her arm. “What’s… what’s gonna happen with Talon now?”

Widow shrugged. “Two things may happen, Talon will hunt me down and murder me.”

“Crappy option.”

“Or, Talon will hunt me down and recondition me to… ‘correct’ my behavior.”

“Crappier option.”

Widow raised an eyebrow, smirking at Tracer. “Oh? And why is that?”

Tracer rolled her eyes, smirking. “I told you, ya numpty, we’re mates I… like you, even if you’re trying to occasionally kill me.”

“Foolish girl.”

“Silly spider.”

Widow scoffed but she was smiling. “You must realize, then, if Talon finds me and reconditions me I will be sent to kill you.”

Tracer thought about it for a moment. She knew they were technically enemies but they never really fought seriously. The only time where Tracer took their fight seriously was when she successfully killed Mondatta. But they never fought seriously, almost as if they engaged in dances, flirting with death.

But the idea of Widow actively trying to kill her, as seriously as she killed Mondatta was a sombering thought.

But Tracer shrugged and bumped her shoulder against Widow’s. “No prob, luv. I’ll save you if that happens.”

Widow raised an eyebrow, smiling. “If they reactivate me, we may need a, ah,  _ safe word _ .”

Tracer blushed, scratching her cheek she grinned sheepishly. “Maybe something you’d never say then?”

“Something from your ridiculous lexicon, then?”

“Oi, what’s that mean?”

“You were raised in the highest society, surrounded by the influential, yet, you insist on intoning out your words like an  _ enfant sans éducation _ .”

“You’ve got a problem with my accent, mate?” 

“ _ Non _ ,” Widow smiled, almost devilishly. “It suits you. It is charming and, ah, how do you say. Cute.”

Tracer stopped in her tracks, her face perfectly red as Widow and Reinhardt continued their trek. The heat rushed to her cheeks and she felt dizzy, it must have been this sweltering weather and not her hammering heart against her ribcage. 

She followed them into the museum, trying not to think about how Widow’s lap felt against her cheeks.


End file.
